


The Watchtower in the Wasteland

by dire18



Series: Elegia [2]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Action, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dire18/pseuds/dire18
Summary: Curiosity and necessity drives the crew towards a strange discovery, but something is rotten in the state of Denmark.A direct sequel to Silent City. Light on magic, heavy on artillery.





	1. Chapter 1

Mikkel was concerned about Emil.

Officially, the medic had declared that he would be fine. The prolonged exposure to the smoke of the building fire should have no serious effects on the young Swede. But Sigrun had grown to know the Dane well enough to tell when he was hiding something, and something was definitely up. Lalli had been the one more seriously injured, but it was Emil that consistently drew Mikkel’s attention in a variety of small, quiet ways. 

Even after clearing him as healthy in the morning, the Dane had lurked in Emil’s vicinity through the afternoon, not letting the cleanser far from his sight. He never failed to turn and watch Emil from the corner of an eye when the cleanser broke into a coughing fit and glanced often in his direction, frowning slightly. Mikkel was mostly being subtle about it. Subtle enough that Sigrun doubted the rest of the crew noticed, including Emil and possibly excluding Lalli. But Sigrun herself noticed. And she knew there was something on the Dane’s mind. 

It was but one of several pressing topics vying for her attention this sunny winter day in the Silent World, leagues away from civilization. 

The captain was typically loathe to call a halt to operations for any reason, but she had done so for the latter half of the afternoon. After Emil’s miraculous rescue of the lost scout and the even more miraculous revelation that there were other humans in the nearby city ruins, the crew needed a day to catch their breath and Sigrun needed time to brood over her next course of action. Tuuri had driven them some several dozen kilometers from town into the neighboring forests until they found a suitable clearing to set up camp. One far enough away from the city that Sigrun was satisfied they wouldn’t run into any wandering Rash packs lured in by the commotion Emil had left in his wake. Or anything else they couldn’t handle, even with their fighting force at diminished strength. 

Probably. 

Emil claimed there was an entire outpost in the far northern part of the town. That he had stumbled across human tracks in his search for Lalli, even witnessed their maker’s grisly end at the teeth of a troll. Normally she would blame the knock to his head as scrambling his brains, so ludicrous was the idea, except the scout had corroborated the tale through Tuuri. Even without a common language the two had managed to return with the same mad story. Sigrun had no choice but to begrudgingly accept it as truth. 

They were in Denmark territory. That made Mikkel the expert. Tales of failed Danish expeditions to reclaim overrun land were common knowledge, legendary even in their magnitude of loss, but Sigrun grilled him again over the possibility that perhaps there had been success _somewhere_ among all the losing battles. Had there ever been any foray by his government this far into the Silent World? Any explanation for why two members of her crew had seen a human outpost deep in a land that was supposed to be wiped clean of any human presence? 

Mikkel had declined it all. In truth he had seemed just as freaked out as herself. Sigrun had rarely seen him without at least a partial answer for any conundrum they had faced in the past. Here, he came up empty. There was no reason or explanation he could provide that justified a human presence. Same with Tuuri for the Finns. Even the Icelandic stowaway was confident that it wasn’t his own people. 

Sigrun had been somewhat skeptical that Reynir, civilian and one-time crate inhabitant, actually possessed viable intel on Icelandic reclamation operations, but the kid insisted that had his government ever sought to establish an outpost in foreign territory, he would have heard about it through his many martial siblings. He seemed sincere, and he did have a streak for being particularly fascinated by tales of going-ons abroad—the captain had found him to be surprisingly insightful regarding the Icelandic political state—so Sigrun had relented and believed him. 

“I’m baffled,” she confessed to the medic. “I want to believe Emil just got knocked on his head one too many times, but with the scout backing him up, we have to assume it’s true. Where could they have possibly come from? Trond and Taru swore up and down that the whole point of our mission was for us to be the first boots on the ground this far into the abandoned lands. If any of our governments made it out here successfully, you’d think they’d have thrown themselves an entire parade celebrating the fact. _Everyone_ would have heard about it.” 

“I think the more important question isn’t where _they_ come from, but where _we’re_ going now that we know they’re here,” Mikkel said.

Sigrun glanced at him from the corner of an eye. A fall of red bangs partially obscured her vision, but she could still see that he had his usual impassive expression. _No strong opinions here, no ma’am._ Innocence practically beamed off of him. But although Mikkel was aiming to sound neutral, there was an undercurrent to his words. She sensed it, just like she sensed there was something troubling him regarding Emil. He definitely had an opinion on the matter. One that he must assume she would disagree with, otherwise he would have just spoken his mind outright instead of playing the cagey game. 

The pair was outside just beyond the tank’s hatch entrance, Sigrun seated on one of the stools and doing some routine maintenance on Emil’s firearms, Mikkel attempting to scrub the bloodstains out of Lalli’s dilapidated jacket. It had stopped snowing some hours prior and now the sun was even occasionally showing face from behind its veil of clouds. Steam rose from the wooden barrel as the medic churned the garment in and out of the hot water. It kept Sigrun in mind of the smoke that was probably even now rising from the building Emil had torched, somewhere behind them in the city. 

A dozen meters away, the three junior and one accidental member of the crew were loafing around and contributing exactly nothing to operations. Tuuri and Reynir appeared to be attempting to train Kitty to do some useless trick or another, while Emil and Lalli sat on a fallen log and supervised the process. It was all one big waste of time—what value was there even if they could teach the kitten to speak on command?—and usually Sigrun would have shouted at them to go find something at least marginally useful to do, but today, she couldn’t bring herself to scold them. It might have even been nice to watch them having fun, change that it was from the low spirits of the past few days. 

“To answer your question, what _we’re_ going is a straightforward course. We’re turning tail and getting out of here, right back toward the road we should have been on days ago.” Sigrun turned the rifle over in her hands and gave it a critical stare. The chamber had been cleaned, any residual moisture from melted snow or blood buffed off. The sky reflected off the barrel. She was a stickler for the crew keeping their weapons in pristine condition. A working firearm could rapidly mean the difference between life and death, and viable replacements were few and far between even on salvage runs. It was rare to come across firearms protected from the rust of age, and someone losing a hand to a faulty backfiring weapon was not something she was confident in Mikkel’s ability to heal. 

“It’s bloody amazing we can end this week with the entire crew still on its feet,” she continued. “I’m not about to squander that good fortune to go poke around with some mystery people who happen to be in our vicinity out here. Especially if it means crossing back over some huge underground giant’s territory to even get there.” 

Mikkel didn’t immediately reply. Instead he busied himself with dunking Lalli’s tattered coat in and out of the barrel of suds again, wringing the garment out for what must have been the twentieth time. 

_Ah,_ thought Sigrun. _The opinion reveals itself. He_ wants _to go check it out._

After the stress of the past several days, she wasn’t in the mood for playing coy. “You disagree,” she said, intending to tackle the issue head on. 

The big man raised the saturated white jacket and held it high, frowning at the faded red stain that still permeated the fabric. It was proving to be stubborn to wash out, but Sigrun suspected that wasn’t the true source of his consternation. “This is my people’s territory. I think it would be stranger for me to not be intrigued,” he said. 

“What happened to remaining cautious? You were all about the naysaying when I was hot to trot to follow Emil when he sent the signal flare up. You wisely pointed out that we had no idea what sort of disaster we might walk into.” 

“This is different. We didn’t know what the situation in the city was like then. Now we have that knowledge. We can plan accordingly instead of dashing in blind.” 

“That still doesn’t explain how we avoid the giant. Emil said the thing is massive. Like city block sized massive.” 

“We can circumvent it. Have Tuuri take the long way around the city and avoid it. Don’t tell me you aren’t at least a little curious to find out who else is out here, stealing what should be your glory as the first explorer of the Silent World.” 

“Nope.” Sigrun waggled a finger at him but was unable to totally suppress a grin. She apparently wasn’t the only one who had grown to know the quirks of her crewmates. “Not falling for that. My weak spots are all well armored to the point of impenetrable at the moment. Mikkel, we almost lost two of the crew mucking about in that wretched city. I’d have to be mad to order everyone back in.” 

It wasn’t helping her current mood to know that choice over the matter may actually be in scant supply. If Reynir had spotted the signal flares, it was a safe assumption that others could have, too. And that was saying nothing of the entire building Emil had set ablaze. Anyone with the means and will to track them down could do so with the supremest of ease. They weren’t likely to outrun anything committed to the chase. Not in their limping, patchwork tank. 

Beyond the circle of her and Mikkel’s debate, Tuuri and Reynir burst out into helpless giggles at whatever was going on in their bungled attempts to train the cat. Even Emil managed a tired smile at whatever antics were afoot. Lalli was a quiet specter at his side, unreadable as always. 

Sigrun was initially surprised that the scout out there with the others. It was exceptionally rare to see him willingly socialize with the team, but she supposed he was still sticking close to Emil. Ever since the pair had been recovered, Lalli had been glued to the cleanser’s side. Even if it meant having to voluntarily spend time in Reynir’s presence, he was reluctant to let Emil get far out of arms’ reach. Whatever had transpired in the city seemed to have left the normally taciturn scout shaken and nervous. _More ill omens for going back._

“Don’t you think they’ve been through enough the past few days?” she asked Mikkel, leaning over and placing the clean rifle to stand against the side of the tank. She reached for the flamethrower next, resting it across her lap as she began to inspect it for any jams that needed attention. “And Emil said it was one of _them_ that shot Lalli. Sounds like it’d be asking quite a bit to have those two march right back toward the people that tried to gun them down. Not to mention, a stupid move by the rest of us, too.” 

“And if it was the difference between whether or not the entire crew made it home?” Mikkel replied quietly. 

There was something different in his tone. Sigrun did not consider herself a person overly adept in interpersonal politics, but she was very familiar with the art of war. She could sense a change in attack. Mikkel was launching a second offense. 

“Oh?” she asked, deliberately noncommittal. 

“It’s Emil,” he said, confirming Sigrun’s earlier suspicions. “I think he might be in some danger from how much smoke he was exposed to before we pulled him out.” 

The resulting brief pause was like the calm before a storm. An ugly one. 

“And you kept it to _yourself?_ ” Sigrun demanded. “How convenient to just happen to bring this up now. Why have you been insisting to us all day that everything is fine?” 

“Because I don’t entirely know what to do,” Mikkel admitted. “And because I didn’t want to worry everyone before I had a solution. I don’t have a lot of experience with this type of thing. He _did_ seem alright at first, and Lalli doesn’t seem to be adversely affected, but Emil’s getting worse, when he should be doing better.” 

“So fix him. That’s what you’re here for, to medic the crew back together.” There was an edge to her voice that she didn’t even try to hide. Admittedly, part of it was born from her own concern, which she was never good at handling. Sigrun had noticed something of the same with the cleanser even without Mikkel’s hovering around him: That contrary to her expectations, Emil had been growing more winded and dazed over the course of the day, even if he waved it off when confronted. It was more alarming than she cared to admit to hear it confirmed out loud. 

“It’s not that simple. I don’t have the tools needed to heal an injury to the lungs.” 

Sigrun glared at Mikkel, who wisely omitted meeting her eyes, instead remaining fixated on the laundry. Then she turned to look over at the younger members of her crew, gathered around the kitten in the snow. Lalli and Emil both looked battered. The scout had been stranded alone in the city and taken a bullet to the side, but Finns were apparently built from iron and he was already back on his feet and looking bored. Emil by compare had only been knocked around some, seemingly suffering no worse than a crack to the back of the skull. Yet the cleanser was the one now looking worse for the wear. Along the course of the previous hour he had gone from sitting upright next to Lalli, to slouching forward on his knees, to leaning on the scout. Occasionally he coughed into his hand, a racking sound that was growing harsher with repetition. 

“I’m dumping you off in that city myself if you’re deliberately using Emil to manipulate me,” Sigrun finally said, standing and wiping off her hands with a rag. “Because make no mistake about it, Mikkel, you know I appreciate your input and I get why you want to investigate whatever the hell is out there, I really do, but I will not be pleased if you’re pushing your own agenda through the well-being of my crew. You could wind up jeopardizing him even more, not to mention the rest of us along with it.” She refused to admit it to him, but it especially annoyed her how effective an attack it was even with her anticipating it. 

“I assure you, I have no agenda other than ensuring the entire crew’s safety, same as you.” Mikkel wrung out the coat for the last time, then held the garment up for a final inspection. After being rigorously soaked and scrubbed umpteen times for the past hour, the jacket was at last restored to something close to its pristine white color. More importantly, the smell of blood should have been almost entirely eliminated along with it. It would still need some sewing repairs to repair some of the damage it suffered, but at least Lalli wouldn’t walk around smelling to predators like an open wound. Mikkel had done a good job. 

“You missed a spot,” Sigrun said anyway. 

“As I was saying,” Mikkel went on, ignoring her. “I wasn’t entirely certain there even was a problem until more time had passed, since I lack the proper tools for an actual diagnosis…but a more established outpost might not.” 

_And there it is._ Seeing the snare laid before her feet hadn’t stopped her from being tripped up in it. Sigrun knew Mikkel had won this round. At least enough to keep the door on the topic open. He was fully aware she wouldn’t condemn Emil if he were in jeopardy, not like this, as an inglorious addendum to a triumphant and daring rescue. Wouldn’t even matter the inherent risk it might take to save him. There were only a few things that could compel her into venturing toward the unknown outpost, but Emil’s wellbeing was one of them. 

“A more established outpost is also going to have all the firepower they need to turn us into a grease stain, if so desired,” she said. “An abundance of it. Several times over.” 

“There’s no reason to assume they’re an enemy.” 

“There’s no reason to assume they’re a _friend!_ They mauled our scout. They’ve corralled up some trolls and are keeping them like farm cattle, according to Emil. These are not the hallmarks of savory people with which to deal, Mikkel.” 

“Corralled trolls implies research. Our own scientists use live subjects in research sometimes, under extremely controlled conditions. You know anyone this deep in the field is going to have a well-stocked medical lab. A scientific facility, especially so.” 

It was a truthful point. The only way to survive holding ground out here would be to remain extremely well equipped for crisis management. Better so than any of the retrieval ships that could meet them along the coast, and any of those would be a much further distance away besides. 

“I’m very upset with you right now,” Sigrun told Mikkel. She lay the flamethrower against the battered steel side of the tank alongside the rifle and turned to shout at the rest of the crew. “Hey, you lot. Quit with the cat and get back over here. We’ve got something to discuss.” 

They came straggling over, first Reynir and Tuuri with the kitten clasped in young man’s arms. They were in high spirits, still laughing and merry. In that moment, they seemed very young. Or perhaps it was a rare moment where Sigrun felt old. Their carefree spirit was enviable. 

Lalli and Emil followed, vastly more subdued. Emil had one hand on Lalli’s shoulder, leaning on him only a little as they limped behind the first pair. The scout rarely gave much away regarding his moods, but Sigrun thought he seemed worried as he helped the cleanser along. 

“You feeling alright?” Sigrun asked Emil when they reached the campsite. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. A little—” He was interrupted by the cough, relinquishing his grip on Lalli to clutch his chest as he hacked into his other hand. Sigrun politely waited until he was able to continue. “—A little tired. I’m okay though. Sore from walking so much yesterday, that’s for sure.” 

“Well, you both sound and look horrible. You’re going to keep the rest of us awake all night if that miserable retching keeps up. Take a seat, everyone. I want to hash this out before it gets too dark.” 

Sigrun looked about the small team as they filed in, everyone claiming one of the little steel stools. Mikkel was as stolid and stone-faced as ever. His piece had been said. Tuuri had been lively and excited ever since Lalli and Emil had returned. For someone confined to live behind tall walls her entire life, a discovery like strange humans in the Silent World was exciting, not frightening. With Lalli recovered, it was easy to forget the misery of the past several days. Sigrun appreciated her spirit but the lack of caution would be to her detriment someday. Reynir was uncharacteristically quiet, the good cheer from moments ago now replaced by a watchful neutrality. At Emil’s side, Lalli looked defensive. Wary. And Emil, stooped forward and leaning heavily on his knees, only looked worn out. Another bad sign. In a normal time, Emil could be counted on to have an extremely strong opinion on all things, regardless of how trivial the topic might be. 

“This group isn’t a democracy,” she began, remaining standing as she addressed the assembled team. “And I don’t want anyone to get confused on that, because we’ve had an awful lot of town halls lately. Desperate times and all that. But in this case, I do want to hear from everyone before I decide what we’re going to do.” 

“It’s the other people, isn’t it? You’re thinking about finding the other people.” Tuuri was practically humming with excitement. 

“The other people that shot your cousin,” Sigrun reminded her. “And no, I’m not thinking about finding them. I am leagues away from considering that. But I do want to make sure we’re not overlooking anything about this situation. We’ve got neighbors out here that none of us can explain. That’s strange enough on its own. One of them attacked Lalli. Not a mark in their favor.” 

“ _Was_ it an attack? Did he ever explain what happened?” Mikkel asked. 

“No, but only because he won’t talk about it at all.” Emil answered. His voice was hoarse and badly scratchy, but it looked like he was going to form that strong opinion after all. “He just shuts down if you ask him, because it scared him. Sigrun, why are we even talking about this? They _shot_ Lalli.” 

“Be calm, I’m on your side. But the situation may be more complicated than that.” Sigrun held up a hand, trying to stave off an Emil outburst. She knew she should tell him what Mikkel had warned, that he may be in danger and the outpost their best chance for help, but the words were hard to find. Instead she said, “It’s possible that it was an accident. You hear something that isn’t your own team when out in the deep, and sometimes a panicked soldier shoots. They might have been as shocked to run across us out here as we are to find them.” 

“And then just left him there? Didn’t try to help?” Emil was digging his heels in on the topic, and Sigrun couldn’t fault him for it. It seemed a weak theory even as she said it. Under normal circumstances, sure. Panic and inexperience were a real thing in the field. But after what information the scout did yield and Emil’s own account of what happened, the captain had the bad taste in her mouth that this was more than a simple case of greenhorn jitters. 

Regardless of what they were here for, this was an operation strong enough to hold ground in the heart of the Silent World. And not just hold ground – impose their will on it. Despite what Mikkel had said in regards to their own governments dallying with live Rash test subjects, it was a practice only ever done discreetly and with utmost caution. To do such a thing here in the field, where conditions were already deeply hazardous, was bold even by military standards. 

Tuuri asked something of Lalli in Finnish, presumably, what had happened when he ran into the strange human. The scout didn’t answer. Instead, he got that deer-in-headlights look the scout sometimes took on when too boxed in by the rest of the crew. He flinched away from Tuuri’s question, leaning closer to the cleanser and grabbing him by the arm, his fingers digging in tight through the black wool sweater. 

“See?” Emil demanded, gesturing with his free hand. “Whatever happened, it was bad. And it _wasn’t_ an accident. Ow, Lalli, that hurts.” 

“I have a bad feeling about it too.” Reynir spoke up for the first time. The Icelander was sitting near Tuuri, still holding the cat and looking at the ground. He looked as though he were concentrating to remember something. 

“That’s very good, Reynir. Top notch ambiguity. Can’t you be any more specific than that?” The kid did have one talent that Sigrun was learning to respect: It seems the rumors about Icelandic mages and premonition weren’t all exaggerations. Though perhaps a coincidence, their seemingly useless stowaway had correctly predicted that Lalli was still alive in the city. But she needed something more tangible than a bad feeling. Everyone got bad feelings. Hell, she was having a bad feeling right now. 

“Not yet,” Reynir admitted. “I’ll work on it though.” 

Something beeped from inside the tank. Sigrun instinctively looked to Tuuri, the Finn meeting the captain’s gaze with wide blue eyes. The skald was on her feet a heartbeat later, nearly elbowing Reynir over in her haste to get by him. 

“Work quickly,” Sigrun told the Icelander. “That’s the radar. We’ve got company.” 

Mikkel was the next in motion. The Dane upended the wash bin and disappeared to toss the empty barrel into the open rear hatch of the tank. Residual heat from the warm water turned the snow into a pink slush were it pooled, the last of the steam rising and vanishing into the winter chill. Sigrun was choosing between the two newly cleaned firearms when Emil appeared at her side, palms open to accept a weapon. 

“Nope. Get inside tank with the others,” Sigrun said, nodding toward the tank entrance where Tuuri was taking to the steps, Reynir at her heels. They weren’t even going to entertain a debate on this one. 

Emil looked like he was still intending be foolish and to waste her time with a protest, but suddenly seemed to lose his equilibrium instead. The cleanser paled, a look of confusion replacing the stubborn pout previously there. Sigrun watched as he tentatively reached a hand toward the vast tire tread as though he thought it an illusion even as he sought to brace himself. 

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. 

“I was going to say something but I can’t remember what it was. What were we talking about?” Emil leaned against the tread and coughed into his hand. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely going in the tank.” Sigrun nudged at him with the butt of his own rifle, though not very hard. 

The scout was hovering a couple of meters away. This time there was no mistaking his worry. Lalli’s hands were clasped tightly together before him, his expression concerned as he watched Emil look sluggishly around the campsite with that same dazed air, the cleanser’s eyes red and watery. 

“Can you take him inside?” Sigrun asked Lalli as she pointed toward Emil, figuring her request would sidestep the usual communication barrier she and the scout shared. It did. Lalli nodded and limped toward the winded soldier, taking him by the arm and pulling at him until the Swede was standing again. Sigrun spared a moment to observe how the scout had to practically half-carry Emil to get him to walk, then returned attention to the weapons, frowning. Mikkel was right. Emil was getting worse. 

The medic appeared from around the back of the tank, having stowed away the rest of the camping supplies. He had a box of rifle ammunition in one hand and a canister of gasoline in the other. 

Sigrun handed the flamethrower over to him and took the ammo for herself. “Here, we don’t have to worry about your terrible aim as much with that one.” She waited until Emil and Lalli were out of the entrance and stuck her head through the door, prying open the box of rifle shells as she did so. “Tuuri! What do you see on that thing?” 

“Ummm…it’s big,” came the skald’s answer from the pilot’s den. “It’s definitely not a beast. If it’s a troll, it’s a huge one. If it’s a giant, it’s fast.” 

“Roger that, sounds great.” Sigrun turned back to Mikkel. “Guess we don’t get to fight over what to do after all.” 

“A pity,” he replied, and she couldn't help but smile a little that he seemed to mean it. 

The radar’s alert was drowned out by Tuuri turning on the tank’s motor. The smell of exhaust and the thrumming of churning pistons filled the air as the vehicle sputtered to life, jarringly loud in contrast to the silence of the forest. Sigrun remained where she was, standing in the snow and facing the ring of brush that created the clearing’s perimeter. She could feel the reverberation from the engines in her bones. A bead of sweat trickled from her hair to trail along her neck. 

Gradually the sound of the running motor seemed to intensify until the emanation was too loud to be mistaken for only their own modest vehicle. It wasn’t long before the din of breaking trees and brush were added to the cacophony, their dry winter limbs giving way to the approaching treads. It felt as though the ground were trembling beneath her feet, and Sigrun was reminded of the monstrous underground giant Emil had described. For a horrible moment she wondered if the creature had managed to come all this way after them, tunneling through the city and forest to hunt them down. Then the thunder reached its crescendo as the second vehicle materialized from the gloomy forest depths, drawing forward from the trees and shadow to enter the clearing. 

Tuuri would surely be enamored when she got a look at the approaching tank. Sigrun herself was impressed. The wheels on the newcomer had to be tall enough to almost clear the roof of their own vehicle. It was a deep olive in color, the paint still shiny, with an armored cabin surrounded in darkly tinted windows that let little of the interior show. The cabin pulled a long trailer behind it, open to the air with two gun turrets mounted at the front and rear. Icicles had formed along the long barrels of the weapons and were beginning to melt in the simmering heat radiating off the tank. Steel creaked as the second vehicle drew close, wheels churning through the snow as it circled the edge of the clearing until it was drawing parallel to Sigrun’s team. 

There were several figures in the back of the vehicle’s bed. Two figures stood at the front, bracing themselves against the rocking of the trailer with the roof of the cabin. Two more stood at the rear. Plus an unknown amount within the cabin itself, which looked large enough to hold a half-dozen if needed. The turrets were officially unmanned, but Sigrun noticed that each still had an individual standing within arm’s reach. They could be at the guns in a heartbeat. The people within the bed appeared to be soldiers like themselves, judging by their uniform charcoal-grey uniforms. There was no insignia on the tank or on their wool clothing that indicated a country of origin. 

Four soldiers, plus at least one or two more doing the driving. That wasn’t necessarily an ominous sign. Four was enough to fend off daylight predators but too small to make a formal statement of intimidation or aggression. Still, Sigrun could not help but consider how four soldiers was still more than she had. And Lalli and Emil were hardly in fighting shape at the moment. 

The second vehicle rolled through the snow languidly, no sense of haste demonstrated as it pulled alongside their campsite and braked to a gradual halt. Again Sigrun wasn’t certain whether to be wary or pleased. Were they making an effort to appear unthreatening? Or were they simply that confident in their ability to overpower any newcomers to their territory? 

Wide tracks carved behind their wheels exposed the dark frozen earth beneath the snow, stark against the white layer. Even if the strangers weren’t trying to intimidate, their equipment alone still made a statement of power. It was a formidable vehicle. An exposed trailer wouldn’t be a good choice for a long-distance overland run, but for short daylight sprints, it was perfect. Agile while still boasting the firepower necessary to take down anything lured toward the din of such a monstrous loud motor. The party in the back could take advantage of the higher ground and mobility and make an effective fighting force despite their small numbers. 

The massive engine droned to a silence as it came to a stop. Sigrun’s tank made only a background purr in the atmospheric void left as the larger vehicle quieted. Behind her, Sigrun heard port window latch slide open. The younger members of the crew may have obeyed her orders to go inside, but they were apparently intending to bend that sentiment as far as possible. Even in the present circumstance, it was hard to refrain from an eye roll. 

There wasn't much to see of the strangers beneath their array of dark gray coats, fur-lined hoods, and shiny leather gloves. Like their vehicle, the strangers seemed better attired than her own crew’s secondhand supplies, but in a style Sigrun could not recall having seen before. Their uniforms were more sleek and fitted, with wide collars and shiny silver buttons, but otherwise unadorned of any embellishment or decoration. One of the soldiers wore his coats unbuttoned, and Sigrun could see that he wore a holster with an additional pistol over an armored vest.

From the trailer, the figure at the forefront that was not currently lurking near the turret raised a hand in greeting. Under a hood the person wore low over their head, they had on a pair of tinted glasses that made their face impossible to discern. The person was slender, somewhat on the tall side, and the clear leader of the party. Sigrun wasn’t able to gauge much more than that, until the person then spoke.

“Hello, fellow travelers beyond the world’s edge!” The stranger called in strangely-accented but clear Dutch. “I apologize for the armed welcome, but we were not entirely certain what to expect so far out here in the ruinsome lands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've been looking forward to starting this story for a long time. I hope it doesn't suck.


	2. Chapter 2

From within the tank Tuuri unlatched the window’s lock and slowly pulled the cover open, leaning forward on the deck to peer through the small opening. The vast armored vehicle rolled to a stop outside. Air hissed loudly as pressure from the brakes released. Reynir joined her in perching on the desk and peeked out at the view over her shoulder, their breath frosting on the cold air.

“The captain’s going to be mad,” Emil rasped from behind them, seated in the wheeled office chair. 

_“Shhhhh,”_ Tuuri retorted, waving a hand at him. “I want to listen. She won’t know if we keep quiet. Gods, will you look at the size of that thing? I can’t believe we got issued such a wimpy little sardine can.” 

Emil shrugged. He didn’t have the energy to argue with her. Had he, he would have been spending it outside with Sigrun and Mikkel. It hurt his pride to be sidelined, but he was grateful for the chance to rest. Despite what he had been insisting to the captain all day, Emil did not feel all that great. Nothing Mikkel gave him was helping with the cough. Air felt thin when he breathed, like being in the high peaks of the Swiss Alps back home. His head was alternating turns between throbbing and spinning. It was hard to keep his bearings at times. 

“Someone is waving to the captain,” Tuuri whispered. “They’re speaking to her. It’s…Danish?” 

Still, Emil’s curiosity was growing piqued despite himself. He abandoned the office chair and joined the other two at the window, using the wall to help keep his balance along the way. “Let me see too,” he said, poking at Reynir’s shoulder. 

It took some jostling and shuffling around but soon all three were crowded around the tiny window with some amount of room to see. Tuuri had the advantage of the middle spot—no one was going to oust her from the best vantage point without a fight—so Reynir and Emil crammed in on either side of her. The cleanser leaned his left temple against the window’s chilled metal edge as he looked over Tuuri’s shoulder. The cool air from outside was a welcome relief from the hot flush he felt in his face. 

Outside, the strangers’ tank was indeed an imposing sight. Sigrun and Mikkel looked small and vulnerable standing before it, a sentiment that made the cleanser uneasy. Emil had seen numerous such vehicles at the encampment beyond the river, but the far distance had really undersold the size of the things. Tuuri was right to scorn their own tank by compare. 

“It’s a woman,” Tuuri said. The skald was leaning forward from the window now, trying to make out the conversation through the rumble of their own tank’s idling engine. 

“An _old_ woman,” added Reynir, sounding surprised. 

It was true. A figure had climbed down from the back of the trailer to face their party at eye-level and thrown back a hood to expose a bun of silver-grey hair. Despite her age, the woman moved with an easy athleticism, hoisting herself over the edge of the railing and using one of the enormous tires as a ladder before dropping safely to the snow below. Emil was surprised as well. One rarely encountered elderly veterans. At least, not intact enough to still be active in the field. 

The strange woman plucked the glove off her right hand as she approached and extended it, looking between Mikkel and Sigrun, saying something to the two of them that Emil couldn’t discern. 

“What’s she saying?” Reynir asked. 

“I can’t tell.” Tuuri sighed and leaned back into the tank. “They’re not talking loudly enough. Damn! We _always_ miss out on the neat stuff.” 

Outside, Sigrun seemed to relax some, finally lowering the rifle as she stepped forward to shake the newcomer’s hand. Mikkel likewise was pointing the nozzle of Emil’s flamethrower toward the ground. Back in the bed of the trailer, the two soldiers at the rear abandoned their posts and drifted forward to join a dark-haired man standing at the front turret. Much like Emil, Tuuri, and Reynir, the other party’s second line was also seemingly not intending to miss out on the neat stuff. Yet the truck’s tinted windows remained up, their inhabitants unseen. 

The atmosphere between Sigrun and the head stranger seemed cordial enough, more curious than threatening, but there was something about those dark windows that unsettled Emil. It reminded him of the city, of hidden danger hiding beneath a peaceful façade. It didn’t matter how polite the conversation in the clearing seemed. There could be a rifle scope trained on Sigrun from behind those black windows this very minute. 

“I can’t believe we’re even speaking to these people. What can she possibly be thinking?” Emil turned away from the window to lean against the wall, closing his eyes against another dizzy spell. “It’s ridiculous,” he said to where Lalli was seated on the floor, a couple meters away beneath the radio console. 

But when Emil opened his eyes again, the scout was glaring at him rather than commiserating. Lalli was hunkered on the floor, still hoarding Emil’s jacket. Between his rigidly drawn-up posture and way in which the overlarge garment’s collar ringed his lean shoulders, the scout looked like an angry, bristling cat. Lalli’s arms were tightly ringed around his knees and only the upper half of his face visible, but the narrowed eyes and drawn brow was enough to convey the scout’s clear displeasure. 

Emil immediately felt guilty. In the excitement over the newcomers, he had forgotten to consider how Lalli must be feeling about all this. These people had attacked him, then abandoned him to the subterranean giant. It was despicable. 

Only, Emil would have expected Lalli to look frightened, like he had back when they had taken refuge in the office building. The scout had seemed shell-shocked after the ordeal, even terrified. Now, the scout only seemed angry, bordering on furious. It surprised the cleanser into feeling taken aback. 

“I’m sorry, Lalli. Are you okay?” Emil eased himself off the desk to the floor and reached for the scout. Lalli shrank back, wincing slightly at the motion, still glaring at the cleanser. Emil immediately froze and lowered his hand. 

“Tuuri? Can you please ask Lalli why he looks like he wants to tear my head off?” Usually he preferred to resolve disconnects with Lalli directly but under the current circumstances, he needed to cut corners with a translator. He didn’t have the luxury of time. 

“Oh, he’s just scared.” Tuuri didn’t glance away from the window. 

“Are you sure? He looks really pissed off.” 

“With him, they’re pretty much the same thing.” 

Emil had to admit there was probably some truth to that. Lalli was typically fearless and had difficulty processing strong emotions in general. It must make the current circumstances all the more stressful on him compared to someone like Emil, who on any average day in the field could find something to be spooked by. 

Rather than risk antagonizing the scout further, Emil instead only moved to sit some half-meter away, reclining against the aged wooden paneling of the tank wall. It was a sufficient distance to respect Lalli’s space yet close enough to demonstrate Emil’s desire to reconcile. After a few minutes Lalli uncurled from the defensive posture, the anger seeming to drain away. The scout twirled and pulled at a lock of his grey hair as he studied a stain on the floor, his expression troubled. Emil risked scooting a little closer to the scout and was gratified when Lalli allowed it. 

Sitting on the floor lost Emil the ability to see what was happening outside. Since he also couldn’t hear the conversation, it rendered him completely ignorant of what might be transpiring with Sigrun and the strangers. That was okay. Unless he heard gunshots, nothing could be more important than being supportive of the scout. 

“They’re done talking. The captain is coming back this way. Hide!” Tuuri fell below the window, knocking over a cup of writing utensils and a stack of books in her haste to do so. Reynir dropped into the vacant office chair, trying and failing to look nonchalant as pencils rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor below. 

“Running away isn’t going to help if you leave the window open anyway,” Emil pointed out, coughing. 

“Shoot, you’re right.” Tuuri was seated back in the pilot’s chair and looking through the foggy glass windows when something caught her attention. She cocked her head quizzically to one side, frowning. “Hey, look at that. They’re leaving.” 

The tank door slid open as Sigrun arrived. She kicked the snow from her boots before stepping through the doorway, Mikkel following suit. Behind her, the armored truck heaved into a steady forward crawl. It began to circle a wide arc around the clearing, heading back toward its path through the forest. 

“I assume you caught all that?” the captain asked Tuuri as she handed her rifle to Mikkel for stowing. 

“Oh, um…actually, we couldn’t hear very well.” 

Sigrun leaned over her shoulder and pointed at the departing vehicle. “We’re going to follow them back to their base.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Emil said from the floor. “What did they tell you? How did they explain the person that attacked Lalli?” 

“We didn’t get that far. The woman calls herself Major Rowe and she’s the one in charge on their end. Swears that everything so far has been one big accident. They never expected to run into actual people out here. That's one thing we all have in common.” 

“The Major invited us back to their base, where we can restock and make use of their better equipped facilities,” Mikkel said. “We can sort out all the details of what happened then. They’ve promised safe passage. If we take the route they suggest, we shouldn’t disturb the giant.” 

Emil would have liked to spring dramatically to his feet, had he felt up to it. Instead, rather more placidly than intended, he replied, “We don’t need to restock and they can’t have anything else we want. Sigrun, let’s just get out of here.” 

“Running water, Emil,” the captain said from the cabin. She had taken the co-pilot’s seat alongside Tuuri as the skald forced the tank into drive. “The claim was made that they have running water.” 

“You’re kidding,” Emil replied as the tank lurching into motion threw him forward a few centimeters. “You mean actual showers? Hot ones?”

“And you dared to doubt me.” Sigrun lost the teasing tone as she continued, more serious now. “It’s not like I’m totally comfortable this myself. Not by a long shot. But we need somewhere to regroup after this past week, and an armed base is going to be worlds better than the open road. We might even consider ourselves lucky to have this opportunity.” The fingers of her left hand plucked at a tear in the vinyl in the arm rest, revealing an old yellow foam beneath. Emil could read her internal conflict in the motion. The captain could never sit still when bothered. 

“We’re just going to stop for the night,” she declared, in a tone that brooked no protest. “We’re going to rest and patch up, we’re going to keep our heads down, and then we’re going to be on our way without any incidents. That’s an order.” 

***********************************************

They returned to the city by highway, following the larger vehicle northeast until they were clear of the forest while still maintaining a good distance from the urban border. It was a longer route to travel than a more direct path would have been, but the road was wide and mostly clear. They made good time despite the roundabout direction. 

Urban expressways were usually a gamble for travel, Mikkel explained. Back when public hysteria had broken out over the Rash epidemic, highways had been heavily utilized as evacuation routes for people fleeing riots in the cities. Most never made it to their destination. Now, the sheer volume of abandoned vehicles on the largest highways frequently left them as dangerous dead ends. In the winter, overpasses could be iced over or cracked beneath the snow, making for other kinds of hazards. Yet it was the clear the strangers made routine use of this path and considered it safe, navigating without hesitation around the few obstacles that occasionally presented themselves. 

From its place on the wall, the radio speaker crackled with quiet static. Mikkel had turned the receiver on at the strangers’ request to enable communication between the two vehicles. Occasionally the sound popped and hissed but otherwise it remained a monotonous white noise, barely perceptible beneath the engines and the wind outside. It was a noise that had a way of getting under the skin. Rarely was their radio ever left on, unless expecting one of the prearranged transmissions from Taru or the Vasterstroms. The channel was usually too clogged with local interference. Now, after weeks spent enduring the cacophony of the infected, it was the silence that felt loud. 

By late afternoon Tuuri’s steering began to curve northwest once more. Outlines of buildings took shape in the distance as they drew closer to the city’s border. A dozen meters away, the four people in the truck were on guard duty. Both turrets were actively manned. The second pair of soldiers were armed with rifles and keeping watch along the sides, occasionally pacing to and fro as they scanned the terrain near and far alike for danger. The woman that had identified herself as the leader was guarding the port side of the vehicle. When they were still a few kilometers from the city, she removed a pair of binoculars from around her neck and joined a larger figure at the forward turret to scrutinize the upcoming highway. 

“Thorough, aren’t they?” said Sigrun. The captain was sitting in the middle spot of the pilot’s den, hunched forward with her chin propped up against her knuckles and feet planted against the dash. Her indigo eyes were narrowed as they scrutinized the truck ahead. “I appreciate a hearty sentry effort as much as anyone, but this is overkill. It’s daylight, there’s nothing out.” 

“They must have only managed to establish an outpost out here through the strictest discipline,” Mikkel replied from the seat to her right. “While maintaining the narrowest margin for risk, even if it seems like excessive effort to us passersby. They have to, if they desire to remain here long term. There’s too much probability for incident.” 

“Why would anyone want to stay out here long term?” asked Tuuri. 

“Good question,” said Sigrun. “Any of our own expansion efforts are always geared toward reclamation. Taking back lost lands either because they’re strategically valuable, or somehow otherwise beneficial. Good for crops or cows or whatever. But here, this would be an island in a sea of hostile territory. There’s no reason to anchor such a difficult spot. At least, no _legitimate_ reason.” She directed this last to Mikkel, grim. 

“Not unless there’s something else that makes this place unique, some value that we haven’t considered,” said Mikkel, unphased by Sigrun’s barbs. “Emil, you said that the giant was bigger than any you had seen before. Is that by your own personal standards or actual veteran standards?” 

“I think even the captain would be impressed.” Emil was slouching back in the office chair, under direct orders from both Sigrun and Mikkel to take it easy. “It was even bigger than the one in the train. It was bigger than the train itself.” 

“Perhaps that’s it,” said Mikkel to the captain. “The giant may be the key. For it to impress on the Sigrun Eide scale, it would need to be a genuine phenomenon. Anything unique is worth investigating if it contributes to a cure. I'd say it's possible that…” 

Emil’s attention slipped away from the discussion in the cabin. It was easy to let go the effort of translating the others’ dialects, and soon, the conversation washed out into meaningless noise. The world felt submerged in a haze. Emil’s chest ached and breath was evasive, leaving him lightheaded. Not long after setting off for the base, Mikkel had given him another inspection, checking his lungs and heartbeat with the stethoscope before dosing him with a round of the liquid painkillers. Sigrun had watched over the medic’s shoulder. If Emil hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she looked worried. 

The medicine eased the pain and left him feeling sluggish and drowsy, yet some anxious instinct kept him out with the others instead of resting in the barracks. An inner voice whispering to him to _get out_ had only grown more insistent the further they travelled toward the city. Even the dulling edge of the painkillers couldn’t mask it entirely. Mikkel had assured him it was just a reaction to returning to a place of such harrowing close calls. Perfectly normal that he should feel so uneasy. Emil wasn’t entirely convinced, but even if he wanted them to leave, the captain was adamant that they go. Emil’s only recourse was keeping on his feet and looking out on Lalli’s behalf. 

The scout had given up the fight and been put to bed by Mikkel the previous hour when his wounds and the exhaustion of the previous day had finally proven overwhelming. Now Lalli was curled on his pallet under the bunks, barely visible beneath a pile of blankets. Emil had chosen a seat that let him still keep an eye on the sleeping form through the open crack in the door. He was missing the scout’s company, especially as his own sense of apprehension grew, but at least Lalli was getting some much-needed rest and a mental reprieve. Visiting the base was going to be hard on the scout, regardless of whatever explanation the strangers may have to explain the incident in the city. It was clear that receiving an attack from another human had left the scout shaken. Emil regretted that he could not spare him from the further stress of going back to his enemy's camp. 

He craned to the side for a look through the forward windshield. The city had taken on distinct shape, its buildings a sharp navy silhouette before the sinking sun. There was a dark cloud creeping upward from a point toward the north. Smoke, he realized, after a moment’s confusion. The building from last night must still be smoldering. He wondered if the flames had spread further in the city. _Good riddance if so._

The highway forked and the truck ahead took to the right. Tuuri guided the wheel to follow. Outside, the way was still surprisingly clear. Abandoned cars were conveniently shunted off to one side or the other, allowing easy passage for the small convoy. Tuuri had no problem guiding their smaller tank through the same path carved by the larger armored truck. Mikkel speculated that the strangers likely had invested time into removing debris from the highway to develop it into a usable route. 

Streetlights and traffic notices began to appear more frequently. Signs were often warped or snapped in half along their corroded aluminum legs. Many were peppered with bullet holes. Once, the truck and the tank carefully navigated off-road to avoid a fallen billboard that obscured the path. They arrived at the outskirts and the first buildings, large blockish structures made of tin that functioned as warehouses in the past. It marked a change from the area of the city they had been delving in, a district primarily made of residential homes and public facilities. 

Every slight bump in the road sent Emil’s heart into his throat. Each aberration encountered was the onset of the giant’s attack, and more than once he half-jumped from his seat, ready to see the road erupting ahead of them. But the rest of the crew was unreactive to any of the same jolts that Emil feared, and he finally calmed enough to begin looking to Sigrun first when he began to feel fearful. If she didn’t react to some hiccup in the road, he needn’t either. It didn’t stop the sudden sparks of panic, but it did help Emil settle more quickly after. 

“Railroad tracks,” Sigrun said when the tank gave an especially abrupt lurch over a low obstacle in the ground. “We’ll be nearing the river soon.” 

_Get out_ , insisted some part of Emil. 

Suddenly the quiet background static of the radio swelled into a piercing shriek. The tank jolted as Tuuri slammed on the breaks momentarily, startled by the unexpected sound. Kissekatt bolted off Reynir’s lap to go hide in the barracks. Emil and the Icelander exchanged wide-eyed looks before both turned to stare at the radio. The white noise intensified as it spilled from the speaker. The static changed and morphed into strange tones, gathering into what almost could have been words before the channel abruptly cleared and a decidedly human voice cut through. 

“This is Major Rowe calling Captain Eide’s crew. Come in if you copy. Over.” 

“Let me,” Sigrun was already on her feet and reaching for the radio. She plucked the receiver off its docking station and held a thumb against the transmission button. “This is Captain Eide. We receive you. Over.” 

The static returned only momentarily before the reply came. “I want to prep you on the upcoming route.” Wind buffeted the other side of the channel. Through the windshield, Emil could see the woman—Rowe—with a handheld radio raised to her lips. She had moved to the back of the truck bed and was looking in the direction of the small tank, speaking to them directly across the distance. 

“In ten minutes we’re going to cross the river. The bridge is going to be a little broken up but it’s still functional. Have your driver follow us. I’m not expecting trouble but if it comes, this is the vulnerable point – the bridge. Move quickly and get across. Over.” 

“Copy that,” said Sigrun. “Thanks for the warning. Out.” 

The channel became soft white noise once again. Sigrun carefully hung the receiver back on its hook. Emil exhaled, only now realizing he had been holding his breath throughout the brief exchange. It turned into a cough and he hacked roughly into his hand. Sigrun’s hand paused to grip his shoulder briefly as the captain made her way back to the cabin. 

“Well, you heard her, Tuuri. Keep a sharp look out for this bridge.” To Mikkel, she turned and said, “So much for guaranteed safe passage.” The Dane did not answer. 

As they approached the crossing, Emil and Reynir went to stand in the doorway to the driver’s cabin. The entire crew less Lalli gathered to watch through the windshield, awaiting sight of what lay ahead. 

The river ran through a chasm of some ten meters deep, its waters a dark murky green and unreflective in the fading daylight. Before the city had perished, the river had served as an industrial route for the various warehouses gathered in this part of the town. Its banks had been artificially widened and reinforced with concrete, creating a canal-like channel for boats to travel. Now, long since retired from its intended use, its purpose was found in serving as a moat for the far side. That is, assuming one could safely cross and depending on what sort of mutation lurked in the water’s depths. 

Across the river, to the west, sentry box towers stood visible around a dense cluster of buildings. Spotlights cast out roving beams, dazzling bright when they turned in the direction of the tank. They were a statement of power in a world where stealth was threaded into every defense. 

Sigrun whistled as they reached the bridge and were able to see what had been referenced as ‘broken up.’ The canal wall on their side of the river had collapsed and taken part of the anchorage block with it. The bridge’s deck was still connected to the shore, but only on one edge. The other half had fallen to the river below. The remaining standing pieces were cracked in several uneven sections until close to the bridge’s center, where it finally stood intact once more. As Tuuri reached the edge and made the first tentative attempt to follow the truck across, Emil could see that the canal had been dismantled from the inside out prior to the bridge’s collapse. Rubble poured outward from the obliterated wall. The fallen remains of the bridge were settled on top. Within the canal wall, a vast hole was still partially visible where the cave-in hadn’t entirely blocked it off. 

The tank stalled out as Tuuri tried to direct it over a particularly uneven edge between pieces of the bridge. 

“Sorry, everyone,” she said as she placed more weight on the gas pedal, trying to nudge the treads over the higher rift. The engine growled louder and finally the tank pitched forward as it made it over the ledge. The abruptness of it staggered Emil and Reynir, standing behind the others. Reynir bumped forward into the back of Tuuri’s chair but caught himself before he fell into her. Emil didn’t fare so well with the sudden blow to his balance. He caught himself with a hand to the doorframe and kept his feet, but the motion made his head spin and threatened to send him to the floor anyway. 

“Hey, let me help” Reynir said. He caught Emil by the arm and helped the cleanser stay upright. He studied the Swede with a look of concern. “You don’t seem so good.” 

Emil couldn’t scrape together enough breath to answer but felt a little sheepish at receiving Reynir’s sympathy, given how poor a foot their relationship had been started off on. He swatted the Icelander away, pushing himself off the redhead to prop up in the doorway again, unwilling to return to the lesser view of the office. 

“Looks like Emil’s giant came busting out of the side here once,” said Sigrun. She stood and peered through Tuuri’s port-side window over the younger woman’s head, trying to get a better view of the damage done to the canal wall. “That must be how the bridge got wrecked. And based on the size of the impact, whatever came through that wall was enormous. _Cor_ , but how I would not have wanted been standing on this bridge when it struck.” 

“Are we sure the bridge is going to hold?” Tuuri asked nervously as Sigrun hovered above her. Even if the crew could survive a fall into the river from such a height without drowning or freezing or drawing a troll attack, the steep walls of the canal would prove impossible to climb out from. 

“If they can cross it in their larger vehicle, we can too,” Mikkel replied. 

“Yeah, but with both of us trying at the same time?” 

Before them, the larger truck was also moving slowly and carefully around the dilapidated bridge. The soldiers standing in the bed were concentrated on the south-facing side, leaving the far shore to the north mostly unguarded. It was clear what direction they expected threat to appear from. The slim figure of Major Rowe stood toward the front of the bed, bracing herself with one hand against the top of the truck. The other hand was on the strap of her rifle, still holstered, though she looked ready to draw at a moment’s notice. She was fixated only on the hole in the retaining wall. 

Emil too watched that direction as well as he could with Sigrun blocking most of the view. In the dusky approach of twilight, the hole looked pitch black. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as his imagination conjured a shiny onyx carapace, erupting through the remains of the wall and slithering out into the canal. One blow from its massive head would be enough to send the rest of the bridge crumbling to the river below. 

They reached the center and the bridge levelled out. The collective sigh of relief could be felt throughout the entire cabin as Tuuri accelerated the tank, no longer forced to navigate around the array of cracks. Sigrun ruffled her hair and returned to her seat in the middle between the skald and Mikkel. 

Reaching the opposite shore freed up attention from the bridge, and new sights lay ahead. 

“Bloody amazing,” said the captain as they followed the truck due west. There were five sentry towers within sight, cylindrical cells with widely carved windows that stood on tall tripod legs. Emil had seen their like all over Sweden and anywhere civilization brushed up against the Silence. The nearest tower stood only a few dozen meters ahead. The others varied in their distances away, with the furthest so far from their current position that it was visible only by the flash of its spotlight. 

As the two vehicles drew within vicinity of the closest tower, the members of Sigrun’s team crowded the windows to try to get a look at something that would have been entirely mundane back home. Large wooden supply crates were stacked around the sentinel’s base, creating a perimeter on the ground that offered limited protection on three sides, with one side left unblocked. 

A jeep was parked within a few steps of the tower’s ladder. It faced the opening in the makeshift barricade, well positioned for a quick retreat. It was impossible to see anything within the cell itself with the spotlight dominating the view. The beam cast out in the direction of the bridge over the tops of the two vehicles, keeping lit the route they had just crossed. It flickered on and off once as the armored truck passed by, the man at the front turret raising a hand in return. 

They began to pass through a series of barricades. The first encountered was built with high walls of carefully stacked crates and reinforced with vicious-looking barbwire fence. A series of tire tracks carved in the snow on the inner side of the barrier implied it was visited frequently and likely well-maintained. The materials used in its construction were in good condition, largely untouched by age or even signs of combat. It would be a sturdy line of defense against overland threats, though Emil wasn’t sure how effective it would be against the underground giant. 

A second barrier another kilometer in was also in formidable condition, but when the tank’s faint headlights roved over the walls as they drove toward a break in perimeter, Emil could see slashes left along the crates and the occasional dent in the chain link fencing. Here and there, crates were toppled or crushed. Weather and time had further had further left its mark on the barrier, the supplies lacking the relatively pristine appearance of the initial layer. 

By the time they reached a fourth line of barricades, the perimeter was little more than rows of splintering wood and warped metal. Most of the chain links in the fencing had been torn from the poles and ripped asunder. Wire from the fence twisted toward the darkening sky in strange black silhouettes. Bullet holes marred the crates as frequently as slashes left by troll claws. Unlike the materials making up the earlier barricades, these had clearly been here for some time. Edges of the crates were rotting away, and the aluminum poles—the ones still standing—were speckled with large patches of white corrosion. 

“You can track their expansion efforts from the central hub of the base,” said Mikkel as they drove through an opening the ruins. “Each layer must have been a new advance after the current territory was completely cleansed. Looks like they took some time to do it, too.” The barricades from new to old spanned only a length of some few kilometers. It was a paltry amount of ground gained for a long-term reclamation project. 

“Interesting how these inner walls see so much damage compared to the outer ones. They really had to scrap to keep this place in their earliest days,” Sigrun replied from behind the large Dane. She had forced Emil to swap spots with her, placing him in a seat between Tuuri and Mikkel as she took his place in the doorway with Reynir. The captain slouched against the frame with arms crossed across her chest. 

“The city was like that too.” The cleanser’s voice had become a rusty hinge in his throat. Each word grated out painfully. “Intact until you got further in. Then all smashed up.” 

He hadn’t noticed the increasing devastation done to the ruins until seeking Lalli. The damage was more violent than seen in typical ancient cities, which had mostly simply died where they stood. But Emil had failed to read any significance in it. It was only after he had reunited with the missing scout and Lalli sent him to the top of the office building that Emil finally realized there was a pattern in all the surrounding destruction. It wasn’t the remnants of some ancient conflict from when the Rash broke out. It was evidence of fresher warfare. 

If only he had been more observant on the first raids, perhaps could have warned Lalli against going toward the river in the first place. He coughed into his hand. “Should have noticed. So stupid.” 

“Knock that nonsense off. It’s not your fault,” Sigrun replied, surprisingly stern. “If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine, or the scout’s himself. And I don’t even blame that little guy for not realizing what was going on out here. How were any of us to expect this?” 

The tank emerged from behind a large, squat structure to come into full view of a cluster of tightly packed buildings, brightly visible from proximity to a series of stadium lights and ringed with another row of the barb-wire fencing. The tallest building stood four stories high. It was built of beige stone, with a sharply steepled roof and symmetrical rows of rectangular windows. Several were lit with a warm glow that was more welcoming than Emil, suddenly homesick at the sight, was prepared for. Several smaller buildings stood dotted around the main one, their interiors mostly dark. A pair of figures—human ones—could be seen crossing a well-traveled snowy yard toward the central compound’s main entrance, carrying packs of equipment. Like the vast stadium lights outside, the buildings appeared to be powered with electricity. It was the first sign of living human civilization they had seen in months. 

Emil had earlier speculated that the site of the base might have been a school. Up close, it certainly looked it. A pair of the smaller buildings had the blocky, uniform construction of dormitories. Elegant spires of a cathedral rose behind the main compound, beautiful even with some of its towers in decay. Light glittered and reflected off a sheen of ice that had caked along the buildings’ roofs and spilled over the edge to form a fall of frozen, crystalline needles. The outdoor stadium lights themselves surrounded an open expanse covered in snow. They stood around bleachers half-buried in snowdrifts and crusted with more icicles. A series of slender dark objects speckled the field’s otherwise unbroken swatch of white, but at the current distance it was impossible to discern what they were. 

To their current right stood a concrete platform housing a complicated series of wires and metal: An electrical substation, Tuuri explained. Likely the source of the power in the area, and a marvel for still functioning. Ironically, despite the meticulous fortifications invested elsewhere on this side of the river, this critical asset had been left unattended. Only a simple chain-link fence surrounded the site and its invaluable contents. 

Numerous caution signs provided a clue as to why. Lightning bolts and skulls conveyed a universal warning even when in Danish. The generator could be relied upon to guard itself. Anything trying to harm it would be electrocuted before having the opportunity to inflict any significant damage. 

Upon closer inspection, the entire complex was rather thinly guarded. A handful of vehicles stood around the outer perimeter. They dotted the area alone or in pairs, but never in groups. Gun stations, unmanned, dotted about the yard and behind the fence. Other points of fortification, trenches and more barricades erected behind hunter’s towers in clusters, were likewise unattended. The vehicles were armored and the watchtowers were manned, but it was a rather sparse display of defense considering Mikkel’s hypothesis that the strangers had to rely on highest degree of caution at all times. 

With one exception. On the western edge of the buildings, near the sports field with its beacon of stadium lights, was another sentry tower with several people standing at its base. The tower’s spotlight was trained through an especially thick double-layer of fence surrounding a wide rectangular pit in the earth. Aged concrete lined the walls of a hole some three meters deep, stained with haphazard splotches that Emil realized in horror was dried blood. Two gates, each reinforced with padlock and chain, provided the only access in. 

Monstrous construction vehicles loomed outside the confine, casting long shadows across the pit. Emil could identify a long-armed crane and a bulldozer, but the names for the other massive yellow machines were unknown to him. After all, new construction was largely nonexistent in Sweden. Vacancies were widespread, even with the population condensed into such a relatively small area. 

There were strange shapes within the construction pit as well. Wrecked vehicles littered the ground. Unearthly forms, too alien to be animal, darted between them or crouched behind their shattered windows. Things retreated to far corners, skulking in the shadows away from the punishing spotlight. Occasionally a bright green disc flashed out from the gloom; a beam caught just right across a milky, feral eye. An angry, warbling scream echoed through the concrete walls of the pit. 

Tuuri cast glances through the side window as they followed the larger truck toward the complex, letting the acceleration taper off momentarily as she tried to sneak a glimpse. Kissekatt was indicating her concern through a faint but steady siren yowl from the back barracks. Sigrun had been especially skeptical on this point leading up to now—had Emil _truly_ seen something so outlandish as live trolls being kept in captivity?—and the cleanser knew this moment should have been vindicating, but it only made him feel sick. He kept his eyes forward on the back of the truck and the approaching structures, avoiding looking into the excavation. 

As they drew closer they lost sight into the depths of the construction pit. The radio came harshly to life again, a series of screams and pleas tumbling through the static to threaten and implore the crew. Reynir lunged and slapped at the console’s power button, slamming the receiver to the ‘off’ button. 

“S-sorry,” he said, sheepish, in the abrupt silence that followed. Sigrun waved the apology off. 

The truck looped east around the main building toward its back. Night had almost arrived. A heavy layer of clouds reduced the moon to only a faint illumination. Within the tank, Emil’s hair was plastered to his face with sweat despite the cold radiating from the windshield. He was wheezing with every breath now. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he and Lalli had not escaped the fire after all. It was continuing to burn in his chest. It was devouring him. The voice that had been warning him away changed its message; he was too late to be saved. 

There was a faint noise from the barracks, barely audible beneath Kissekatt’s continued growl. Lalli stirred and muttered something in Finnish. Even asleep, he sounded distressed. Emil gathered his tattered strength together and tried to push himself to a standing position. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, keeping him seated. 

“Stay right where you are.” Sigrun’s grip was like an iron weight. 

“Lalli,” Emil grated out, but the captain shook her head. 

“Let Mikkel worry about him. I need your attention here, up front. We’re in unknown, possibly hostile territory. I need you to be _alert_ and _awake_.” 

Emil couldn’t speak so he just nodded instead, chagrined. With Lalli out of action, of course Sigrun needed him to be on guard as the only other fighter in the group. It was selfish of him to not remember his duty. He was just so tired. It was hard to focus, hard to keep his bearings. 

The tank rolled along over the snow. The stadium lights stood at the far west side and now they drove into the shadow of the main building. Darkness fell across the windshield, soothing to Emil's stinging, painful eyes. The invitation to close them became irresistible and it wasn’t long before he closed them with a sigh, allowing his head to slump forward. 

“ _Hey_!” Sigrun’s hands were shaking him this time, jarring him back to himself. Her fingers dug painfully into his collarbones. “I told you to stay awake. Mikkel, keep an eye on him. Jab him in the ribs every few minutes if you have to, just don’t let him fall asleep.” 

Emil wanted to ask her why she sounded so frightened. It wasn’t like her. It was worrying him. He would have liked to demand Mikkel go check on Lalli instead, but he had no fuel for the fight. He just nodded in compliance again before breaking into another coughing fit that left him gasping for air. "Yes," he finally said, only feeling up to monosyllabics.

“Tuuri, won’t this thing drive any faster?” Sigrun snapped. 

“Ah, well, yes, a little, but we’re following someone…” the driver responded. She was sitting right next to Emil but her voice sounded far away and fuzzy, as though she were speaking through a radio. The cleanser began to sag in his seat again. Obedient to his captain, Mikkel elbowed Emil in the ribs until he had his head upright again. 

At last they turned the corner. A large, bunker-shaped garage stood ahead, placed between the primary building and the cathedral. Electric lamps fastened to the outer gutter lit the way as the truck steered through the open doorway and navigated carefully into an open spot before coming to a rest. Tuuri followed. The garage was spacious, with only a few places occupied by additional vehicles. She pulled alongside the truck and rammed the shift into brake. Silence filled the void left by her killing the engines. 

“That’s it,” the skald said finally, nervously. 

To their left, the soldiers were dismounting from the truck. Through bleary eyes, Emil watched as the man who had been standing at the forward turret climbed down from the truck and dropped to the hard-packed earth below. He had dark brown hair and eyes and appeared to be around the captain’s age. The man reached to offer a hand to Rowe as she followed him, assisting her descent to the ground. Doors to the cabin on the passenger side swung open and another man shuffled out of the truck. He lacked the gray coat of the soldiers and was instead garbed in a puffy navy jacket lined with brown fur. Emil could only briefly make out ruddy features and wispy blonde hair before the man disappeared from sight, hurrying off through an exit in the far side of the garage. 

Lalli stirred again, kicking out in his sleep and mumbling. Reynir retreated backwards into the barracks to check on him. Sigrun took Emil by the arm half-pulled him to his feet. His legs were rubbery and didn’t want to work right, so Mikkel, stooping beneath the tank’s low ceiling, helped him on his other side. Once clear of the cabin, Sigrun pulled Emil’s arm around her shoulders to support him as he staggered forward, the cleanser finding it challenging to keep his balance on his own. 

Tuuri made motion to follow them out the exit and Sigrun rounded on her. “You’re staying here for now,” the captain said. Mikkel squeezed past her and the Emil to open the hatch door. “Mikkel is in charge until I get back.” 

“But captain!” Tuuri said, and this time, she wasn’t the only one to protest the order. 

“I really do think—” Mikkel also began. 

“Look.” Sigrun was impatient, her words coming out more clipped and brusque than usual. “Someone has to stay and look after Lalli and the tank. And I don’t feel good about jeopardizing more of the crew than I have to. Not until we have more reassurance of who these people are.” 

“You and Emil alone is too much risk as well,” Mikkel replied. “I think I should join you. Tuuri can look after the others.” 

“Mikkel, _no_. We’re not leaving the kids on their own. I need you here.” The captain shifted her grip on Emil, taking on a little more of his weight onto her shoulders. “I’ll get this one checked out and then I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Just sit tight for now.” 

Mikkel didn’t answer for a moment, then the big man sighed. “Fine,” he agreed at last. “I’ll stay and keep watch. Let me know what you find out.” 

Emil swayed on his feet. The captain began to guide him through the tank’s exit where Mikkel stood. The Dane was frowning, the creases around his eyes deepening widely, but he stood aside and allowed them to pass. 

He stopped Sigrun with a hand as she passed. “Look after yourselves,” he said. 

“I promise.” The captain gave him a toothy grin. 

Emil’s vision was spinning as he cast a final backward glance over Sigrun’s arm, toward the crack in the barracks doorway. Then he lost sight of it as he and the captain stepped out into the stale garage air. 

The bunker was built of thick olive-colored canvas. It fluttered in the aggressive winter wind, its cord fastenings creaking, but kept the interior well-insulated. A few lightbulbs were strung from the ceiling, one flickering occasionally with a slight crackling hum. Several jeeps, a Humvee, and a large, square transport vehicle stood parked within the building. On the far wall, dozens of crates were neatly stacked in columns. Each was labeled in neat blocky writing that Emil’s dazed mind could not read, yet still found oddly familiar. An armory locker generously lined with firearms was near the exit. Nearby shelves offered more equipment: Flashlights, flare guns, first aid kits, gasoline canisters, even bottles of water and field rations stood in neatly arranged rows. Survival packs, presumably already filled, hung from a rack. It was a sense of organized preparedness that would have made Mikkel proud. 

Rowe was waiting for them behind their tank, the man with brown hair standing at her back. From the bed of the larger truck, a petite blonde woman was handing rifles down to a brawny figure standing below. The man had to be approaching Mikkel’s width, though in far fitter shape, grizzled, with old scars visible on one side of his face and along his neck. Emil saw a glint of silver at his wrist when he reached up to grasp a Remington the younger soldier was passing down to him, stock end first. A bracelet of some kind? Strange to be wearing jewelry out here, Emil thought, managing even to summon a little disdain. 

If the pair in the truck were interested in Emil and Sigrun, they didn’t show it other than quick glances cast in their direction with detached expressions before returning to inventory detail. Despite there being an armory rack within the garage, the large man took the armful of guns with him through the exit after he had collected them all, vanishing through the door. The blonde soldier dusted off her hands and climbed down from the truck. Up close, Emil could see rends and dents left in the outer paneling of the vehicle. 

The Major bowed her head slightly in greeting to Sigrun as she arrived, Emil on her shoulder. Light reflected along her glossy silver hair at the motion. She had the same polite, professional neutrality of her soldiers. Cold courtesy, it seemed to Emil as he studied her through half-closed eyes, but Mikkel had warned him against being unfairly cynical toward them for what had happened to Lalli. _Keep an open mind_ , the Dane had advised. 

“The laboratory is on the third floor,” Rowe said in her odd, sharp accent. “I called ahead and let our medic know we’re bringing an injured party in. He’ll be expecting us.” 

She stood aside and gestured toward the garage exit. “Welcome to Terra Luna, captain. If you would bring the young man this way, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the slow updates, I've started setting aside more time during the weekdays to work on this, rather than just weekends, and I'm optimistic about getting new chapters out more quickly as a result. As ever, thank you so much for reading! It means a lot to me. Hope to be back with a new chapter soon.


	3. Chapter 3

The entrance to the main compound lay only a short icy stretch from the hangar. Sigrun’s breath frosted into crystalline puffs as they moved across the snowbound yard, their shadows cast long behind them, a product of the vast illuminated towers on the far side of the building. It was like standing beneath a spotlight. The occasional glint of another beam from the neighboring watchtowers flickered in the distance. There were three that she could see dotted about the landscape, invisible save for the lights. Something shrieked in the dark on the far side of the main building. A resultant echo turned the sound especially alien as it rattled up from the stone walls of the pit and out into the open night air.

“Seems you had the right of it,” she said quietly to Emil as she helped him from slipping on the ice on his shaky legs. “It really is an entire outpost.” 

The cleanser nodded once, a grim expression on his face as he studied the encampment. His attention seemed to keep returning to one point in particular, the cathedral that loomed behind the hangar. All spikes and crystals against the sky. 

Usually Sigrun could read the young Swede’s emotions like a map, but she was finding him more subdued since they departed the forest. He had opted to leave his heavy white coat behind, she noticed. Even in the winter chill, he looked flushed and hot. His skin was sallow where it wasn’t red, his hair plastered along his face from sweat. 

Rowe led the way of the procession, a slim figure marching toward a side entrance carved into the building wall. Her steps crunched quietly and swiftly over the hard-packed snow. By the way the powder had been cleared away, this was a path more commonly used than the main entrance around the corner, where high drifts banked right up against the front doors. Another pair of steps in the snow veered off to the east, toward the cathedral. Their maker had already disappeared from sight. 

Sigrun and Emil followed the old woman, the cleanser leaning heavily on his captain. The man that had guarded the truck’s forward turret, introduced by Rowe as First Lieutenant Morgan, was a few steps behind the pair of them. A third soldier from the truck hastened from the hangar and brought up the rear. She was a young woman, not much older than Tuuri, with long yellow hair tied back in a ponytail and an impeccably buttoned and straightened uniform, even after riding in the back of a trailer for an afternoon. The girl seemed to be doing her best to mimic the professional detachment of her superior officers, but Sigrun thought she looked a little wide-eyed at the sight of strangers on her doorstep. 

It was darker inside the building than out. Sigrun was blinded after entering until a soft click sounded behind her. A trio of dim incandescent bulbs overhead flickered into life with an audible crackle as one of the soldiers flicked on a switch. They illuminated a long corridor with wooden floors and a decaying jade rug, with walls lined in a symmetrical series of doors. A school, just like the dozens of others they had raided this winter, though one in far better condition. The place was chilly and drafty, its corners overflowing with dust and cobwebs, but its walls were solid and the ceiling was intact. 

“We’re headed down and to the left,” said Rowe. “Main staircase will take us where we want to go from there.” 

“Isn’t there a decontamination process first?” asked Sigrun. She was expecting to see chemicals or shower equipment set up nearby, but the corridor was empty, the doors all shut. Footprints in the dust indicated that none of the rooms were popular destinations; all the visible tracks led out the hall. 

“Decontamination?” replied Rowe, giving her a strange look. “All the disinfectant will be up in the lab with the rest of the medical supplies.” 

Emil glanced at Sigrun and she shrugged in response. Maybe trying to keep a frontier outpost clean of Rash germs was a lost cause, given the constant exposure. Especially considering what they had passed in the construction pit. She would have to remind Tuuri to make sure she and Reynir kept their masks on at all times, just in case. 

Their steps sounded an awful ruckus over the thin rug as they strode through the hall. Every tiny annoying sound bounced too loudly off the wood and directly into Sigrun’s ears. Likewise, the artificial lights overhead seemed to leave everything washed in a garish, unnatural tint. It was always disorienting to be back inside a functioning building after months spent on a long patrol. Eventually she would get used to it, as she always did, but at the moment, Sigrun found the air cloying and intact walls claustrophobic. Though with enough luck they wouldn’t be here long enough to have the chance to adjust. 

“So what is this place?” she asked after a time, breaking the silence of the group. 

“Officially, it’s named Greene-PRD2, but you won’t hear anyone here call it that.” Rowe answered in her odd accent. Sigrun was certain she had never heard its like before. “A research station studying the unique forms of Rash-life in the area. And containing it from venturing out to any settled lands.” 

Up close, the woman’s features had a fragility brought on from age. Thin skin stretched tight over prominent cheekbones and sallow cheeks. Cords in her neck moved visibly as she spoke. Lines creased around the corner of her eyes and at the edges of pale lips that retained only a hint of color. She seemed very breakable to Sigrun, but Sigrun was no fool. No large-scale field operation was being anchored by a weakling. And no soldier grew old without deserving at least some respect for the accomplishment. From what she could see, this woman had achieved both while avoiding maiming or a crippling - a special rarity in their line of work. 

“We visited the site of last night’s skirmish,” the Major continued. “I take it you crossed paths with the giant?” 

They reached the end of the hall and Rowe turned left, leading the group into a wider passage. Faded artwork hung on the walls replaced doorways. Paint cracked and chipped or molded over, leaving the art largely rotted away. Only small slivers of their former selves remained. Sigrun caught glimpses of blue skies, red flowers, oceans and forests as they hurried past. Scenes far removed from the ruins that surrounded them. 

“This one did.” Sigrun nodded toward Emil, sparing him the effort of speaking up. “He said it came at him by barreling right through the street.” 

“The Leviathan,” said the Major. “We’ve been watching it for years.” 

“Curious that you found it when it’s out here in the middle of nothing.” 

“It was an exploration team from Germany passing through Ribe who were the first to report on it,” said Rowe. If she found Sigrun’s statement an accusatory one, she didn’t give any indication. “They failed to locate any of the human settlements they had been seeking, but they did return with news of a titanic creature, bigger than any they had seen on land. It was enough of an anomaly to begin gathering some interest. I’m sure you know how it goes, once the science community catches wind of something new. Any advance is worth a gander.” 

_Ribe, huh?_ Maybe she should have brought Mikkel after all. He was the geography nerd of the squad. He would have known if that was a bogus answer. But Sigrun didn’t, and she didn’t wish to reveal her disadvantage, so she remained quiet. 

“The rest of your crew, you left them behind?” said the Major after a few silent moments. “The invitation to enter camp was extended to you all.” 

“Thanks. Let’s get my cleanser here taken care of, then I’ll worry about the others.” 

Sigrun had watched Emil throughout the entire drive over, working hard to downplay her growing concern so as to not freak him or the other young ones out. There was something unnerving about a wound that couldn’t be seen, one that Sigrun had no idea how to fix. She was much less interested in who the strangers were, or where they came from, than was Mikkel. Her list of interests was quite short. She only cared whether or not these strange foreigners could keep their promise to fix whatever was invisible injury was killing Emil. 

“Did you say how large your team is?” asked Rowe. “It would be good to know how many to expect.” 

“Lalli,” growled the cleanser before Sigrun could answer, and she had to scoff. _Getting half-dragged through the hall at present, but still as damn stubborn as ever._

“What’s that?” asked Rowe, not turning around. 

“Lalli,” repeated Sigrun. “Our scout. One of your soldiers shot him three nights ago when he was on patrol. Emil here started the fire in the city during a rescue mission retrieving him.” 

The man behind Sigrun seemed to begin to say something but Rowe answered first. 

“A terrible misunderstanding. And a humbling one,” she said. “We’ve fallen careless to simply shooting at any shadow that moves, it seems. I would have thought my team more discerning than that, even if we believed ourselves to be alone in the Wastes. I assure you, I will look personally into the lapse in judgment myself.” 

Emil and Sigrun swapped another glance. The cleanser’s jaw was set, his expression dark. It was obvious that he didn’t find the brisk response to be a wholly mollifying one. Not when Lalli had drawn so close to becoming another name on the casualty reports. 

A pair wooden bannisters marked the entrance to the stairwell. Its surface was worn dull with age, tracing the steps up to a platform where they pivoted once before continuing on to the second story. The stairs lay opposite what must have been the main entrance of the building, and now Sigrun could see why there wasn’t a path to it outside: The large doors had been boarded up from the inside-out. Thick wooden slabs reinforced the entry and any windows several times over. It looked to be impenetrable. 

Sigrun had not been relishing getting Emil up the stairs ever since Rowe had mentioned them. Despite the brief flash of defiance and Sigrun’s help, he was already winded, his steps occasionally stumbling into one another and almost tripping them both. The flush continued to build in otherwise his pallid face. Tendrils of blonde fell about his eyes, plastered in strings against his forehead and temple. Yet Sigrun wasn’t surprised to see that he was still glaring at the back of the woman ahead of them. At least one helpful side effect of Emil’s injuries was that they rendered him temporarily silenced; it staved off the tirade that he surely would be going off on otherwise. 

_You call nearly murdering Lalli a ‘misunderstanding?’_ he would say--or more likely, shout--wrathful and indignant. Not that Sigrun disagreed with him. It was just that berating their hosts had much less value than remaining on cordial terms, at least while Sigrun needed their help. She could practically feel Mikkel hovering over her shoulder and reminding her to be diplomatic, to try to size up their hosts while remaining professional and at least passably friendly. 

So all the talking was left to her, while the cleanser was condemned to only quietly seethe. Sigrun expected that the first words out of his mouth once he was feeling better would be to snarl at the whole lot of Rowe’s crew. That was fine. After he got patched up, Sigrun would let him mouth off however he liked, just so long as Tuuri already had the engine running. She might even contribute herself. 

“You can ignore his surly looks, he’s just still sour that his mate got gunned down and left to be eaten,” Sigrun said before she could catch herself. _Oops._ Apparently Emil wasn’t the only one who needed muzzled. It had become certain; Mikkel should definitely been allowed along to represent the squad. 

“Are you in shape to make it up the steps?” she asked, turning to the cleanser before anyone had a chance to acknowledge the rather thinly-veiled snark. 

Emil was smirking, but the grin quickly faded as he looked up to regard the staircase. “…What floor?” He rasped, and Sigrun snorted at the earnest tone of the question. 

“So no, then.” 

“Here,” said the man introduced as First Lieutenant Morgan, surprising Sigrun by speaking up in Danish. He had been silent until now, leaving all the talking to Rowe as the superior officer. The man stepped forward and reached toward Emil’s free arm. 

“Don’t—” The cleanser recoiled into Sigrun, offended that one of the strangers might dare touch him. 

“Suit yourself,” the solider said mildly, holding up his hands and backing off. “And it’s the third floor. Far end of the hall.” 

Emil frowned as he wrestled with the idea for a moment, looking briefly like he was still going to be obstinate about it. Then he begrudgingly held an arm out, refusing to look at the man. It amused Sigrun that he seemed to be acting rather like Lalli, as though some of the scout’s prickly territoriality toward strangers had been rubbing off on him. It was really only fitting. Emil’s own gregarious nature had certainly rubbed off on the scout, at least where the cleanser himself was concerned. The majority of Lalli’s time was still spent alone, but when it wasn’t, it was spent near Emil. 

The Lieutenant took the offered arm and pulled it around his own shoulders just as Sigrun had on Emil’s other side. He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Sergeant. Sergeant.” Then, with a note of exasperation: _“Sergeant Knox.”_

The young blonde soldier behind them jumped, a guilty look passing her face. “Ah—sir?” 

“Go on ahead and let him know we’ve almost arrived.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, stumbling over the words. 

Sigrun noticed that her Danish was much more uncertain than either that of Rowe or Morgan, who both used it easily, even conversationally, despite their peculiar accents. And she hadn’t seemed to be anticipating her orders in it. The girl had been about to reply in a language she found more comfortable before catching herself and switching. Sigrun recognized it as a similar habit that Tuuri had with Finnish. 

The woman slid past the three of them and took to the stairs, the ancient steps creaking beneath her boots as she ascended, her long hair bobbing behind her. Rowe must have gone ahead as well, Sigrun realized. The old woman had disappeared from sight, leaving Sigrun and Emil alone with just the male soldier. 

“So why is this place called Terra Luna? If it’s real name is Green-whatever. The boring name no one uses,” Sigrun asked as they began the climb to the first platform. 

“It’s a nickname one of the technicians came up with back in the early days," the man replied, and Sigrun thought she noticed the barest ghost of a smirk. "Because in living out here, you might as well be living on the moon.” 

“I see,” Sigrun said, and she truly thought she did, at least in some tentative grasp. 

It summed up well a disquiet that had been nagging at her ever since Emil had reported the outpost’s existence. A claustrophobic itch that left her uncomfortable and restless. The base stood leagues away from the nearest cleansed area, weeks deep in hostile territory. Even with lines of communication back to wherever they came from, it was unlikely that help could arrive in time to help in a crisis. The people here were well and truly on their own. They might as well be on another planet. 

Sigrun mulled the thought over as she and Lieutenant Morgan assisted Emil up the steps. The man was a little taller than herself and in the same fit condition as Major Rowe. In addition to the uniform coat, unbuttoned to reveal an armored vest and the holstered end of a sidearm, he wore faded gray pants tucked into black boots. The boots were riddled with a network of creases and scuffs but still carried some shine in the leather; they had been well taken care of in their lifetime. His jacket and pants both showed a patchwork of stitches that suggested numerous repairs had been done to mend tears in the fabric. A thin chain of tiny silver beads hung around the man’s neck, the end tucked behind shirt and vest. Dog tags, Sigrun assumed. Easy proof of death if needed. He was clean-shaven save for a few days’ worth of stubble, his dark hair closer cropped than that of the men on her team but still long enough to be messy from riding in the back of the truck. Like the Major, the man was polite but detached, neither unfriendly nor overly welcoming. 

The stairwell abruptly darkened as the ambient light outside suddenly halved itself. Shadows overtook the view of the steps ahead of them. Only the wan moonbeams streaming in from the unbarricaded windows of the second-story remained. 

Sigrun froze, immediately anticipating an ambush. Was the power cut? How had the attack snuck past the guard towers? Or had the giant attacked the generator from beneath the ground? She waited for the sounds of panic and gunfire, but several heartbeats passed and no alarm was raised from outside. 

After a few tense moments, she looked across the top of Emil’s bowed head. “That was deliberate?” 

“Just the outdoor lights getting killed now that everyone is back from recon.” Morgan leaned forward to glance through the window on Sigrun’s left, mottled rays streaming through the frozen glass shifting across his face as he did. The yard in the view beyond had grown dim without the output of the great electrical towers. Details in the landscape were hazy. Neighboring buildings faded to silhouettes against the sky. 

“We don’t usually keep them on past dusk,” he continued. “They’re like a beacon out there, you can see them for miles. And they burn a lot of power.” 

“I thought for sure we were about to be overrun just now. I’m never going to get used to a whole outpost just humming away this far out in the open. How long has this place been here? Who even _paid_ for it?” Her group had been forced to contend with barely-functioning equipment and a skeleton roster, surely an operation like this had taken a fortune to fund. 

“Afraid I’m just a simple soldier, ma’am. The Major’s going to be the one to have your answers.” 

Sigrun couldn’t help but grin at the blatant deflection. “Hah, alright, I get it. Didn’t hurt to try.” Apparently she wasn’t the only one to have been coached on behavior prior to this rendezvous. 

They continued upward. Despite Emil’s initial disdain to be helped by a member of Rowe’s troop, the cleanser was half-dead by the time they reached their destination. The exertion of getting this far had made him more cognizant but left him wheezing for air, the sound a pitiful thing that set Sigrun’s nerves to edge. Her own legs were beginning to burn from helping him so far. It was a little humbling; the winter must be making her soft. 

The third floor’s layout was comprised of the same uniform rows of classroom doors as earlier halls. Yet unlike previous parts of the building, this one had been cleared of the detritus of age that plagued the lower levels. All the cobwebs and dust had been removed, the rotting paintings taken down and moldy carpets tossed out. Even the windows had been diligently cleaned of the film that collected on the glass in the stairwell. It went a long ways toward dispelling Sigrun’s sense of claustrophobia to not smell that old soggy rug smell, and she found herself able to relax a little in the clean air. 

Tarnished brass plaques displayed numbers above each door. Room 301. 303. 305. At the far end of the hall, near plaque 317, a door was thrown open. A bright swatch of golden light spilled out from the entrance to illuminate a polished wooden floor. The soldier that had been sent ahead was posted outside, standing to attention on the far side of the entrance with arms clasped at her back and chin held high. Sigrun thought she looked a little stiff for the occasion. The girl must be embarrassed from being caught off guard earlier. She refused to look directly at the trio as they arrived, maintaining a ferociously committed expression of indifference as they came dragging up. 

A lithe shadow carved into the light on the floor as Rowe came to meet them. 

“Usually, it’s not ideal to make the injured drag themselves to the lab floor but I’m told the equipment needed for this can’t be moved downstairs,” the Major said, joining them in the middle of the hall. 

“Right then.” Morgan removed Emil’s arm from around his shoulder and helped the cleanser ease back into taking more of his own weight. “I’m going to go check with Surveillance and make sure nothing tailed us home,” he said to the Major. 

He turned to leave, but Rowe stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. “No, stay here. They’ll shout if they see anything. I may need you to take over if I get called in for debriefing.” Sigrun thought she saw Rowe give the briefest of glances toward Emil as the woman said it. 

The interior of the laboratory was warm and well-lit. Sigrun blinked as they entered, brought up a little short by the sight. She hadn’t been expecting anything in particular, but she was still surprised by the shift from the drafty halls of the mostly-abandoned school into this self-contained little piece of civilization. 

The lab had once been a science classroom. She recognized it by way of Mikkel’s lessons in salvaging. He was adamant she and Emil be able to recognize subtle differences of where certain books were likely to be found. Math and science sectors had high potential for especially valuable loot, dense tomes with more numbers than letters. He had grilled Sigrun and Emil until they recognized the signs of one by rote: Strange affectations such as shower nozzles hanging from the ceiling, tile floors with drains, and industrial-sized sinks embedded in walls. Sterile-looking places, like in a doctor’s tent or field hospital. 

Here, the student desks had been cleared out and replaced by a pair of cots with a vacancy that implied there had once been a third. Shelves were lined along the south wall, neatly organized with rows of tiny bottles, thin gleaming blades, syringes, microscopes, and other equipment that Sigrun didn’t recognize. A rifle and what looked like a tranquilizer gun hung on a hook nearby. Two doors lead out of either end of the room: One, behind a large black desk at the front of the room, lay half-open. Sigrun caught a glimpse of more furniture and stacks of books neatly piled on the edge of another desk. Books. Just hanging out and being used instead of being carefully filed and stored. Mikkel would be horrified. The second door at the further end of the room was shut, its interior unseen. A label on its front read an unfamiliar word: “PATOLOGI.” 

Electric lamps provided most of the room’s light, but a few candles flickered on a windowsill alongside pots filled with varieties of strange plants. The window primarily overlooked a view of the twin dormitory-like buildings, the white field with its odd markers and bleachers behind. Far to the right, the beginning edge of the fence and pit could be seen. 

Blackboards covered the remaining walls, their surfaces crowded with diagrams and text meticulously etched in neat white print in a language Sigrun didn’t recognize. Most of the illustrations were of intricate hexagonal or oval shapes, pictures so opaque to her that they may as well have been a foreign language themselves, and her gaze slipped right over them as she looked about the room. 

One board near the back of the room did snag her eye. Numerous images of Rash-life crowded the black slate, but there were three in particular that had been awarded more space and detail than the rest. A spindly worm-like creature with long barbed legs and a loathsome segmented body coiled in the center of the board. Emil’s giant, Sigrun reckoned, based on the description he had given. To its left was a winged creature, all fibrous wings and serrated pincers and a body that tapered into a long, needle-like point. On the right, a spider with too-many legs that resembled a sea urchin as much as it did an insect. Both ends of the beast were lined in rows of eyes, making it impossible to discern front from rear. Notes and arrows surrounded the creatures, a comprehensive guide, presumably, to every vulnerability and danger the monsters were known to possess. 

A man was waiting for them inside in the lab, leaning against the window with crossed arms and a ceramic mug in one hand. Contrary to the soldiers’ uniforms, he was dressed more simply in a plain navy sweater beneath a lab coat, with tan-colored pants and gum sole sneakers. A pair of silver wire-framed glasses rested on the bridge of a crooked nose that had the look of botched healing from an old break. He straightened up as they entered the room, eyes immediately going to Emil, who surely looked ghastly as he sagged beside Sigrun. 

“Set him over there,” the man said in curt Danish, indicating the closest cot to the doorway as he set the mug down on the desk and reached for a medical kit standing nearby. He had a fair complexion, with blue eyes and sandy-brown hair shorn low on the sides and back. As he moved from the window, Sigrun could see a quartet of pale scars running along the right side of his head through the short hair. The innermost of them had taken a few centimeters off the top of an ear along with it. 

Sigrun sighed in relief as Emil half-collapsed onto the edge of a bed. It was amazing that the cleanser could be so heavy after weeks of being starved by Mikkel’s cooking. He swayed a little where he sat, alarmingly gray. Sigrun braced him with a hand as the man in the lab coat joined them, pulling a small wheeled stool out from under the cot with a foot and taking a seat in front of Emil. 

“What can you tell me about how he got injured?” He asked Sigrun, opening the box and plucking a pair of vinyl gloves from the array of medical supplies inside. Sigrun was aware of the others filing in around them, Major Rowe taking a seat behind the head desk and Lieutenant Morgan drifting to look out the window and its shrouded nocturnal view. 

“He was in the city with another of my crew when they got attacked. Emil torched the building when they were still inside and got caught when it fell down around them.” 

“Oh, good. The hoodlum responsible for making such a bloody mess out there. Just who I wanted to interrupt my night to help. How long was he in the smoke?” 

“’M right _here_ —”Emil cut in. 

“Not sure,” Sigrun said. “He was knocked out by the time we found him. He was kind of in and out of it for the first couple hours after we recovered them but seemed to be doing better, until he wasn’t. He keeps getting disoriented. Seems to gray out a lot. Can’t stop hacking or catch his breath.” 

“That’s because he’s been gradually asphyxiating ever since you pulled him out. Much longer, and he may have respiratory failure. You said there was someone else with him, are they having any of the same problems?” 

“Yeah. My scout. I mean no, he got banged up but he’s fine from the fire. Emil caught the brunt of it.” Sigrun watched as the man pulled more supplies from the kit and arranged them on the white sheet of the bed. A small vial, a piece of folded gauze. A pinpoint flashlight, which was used first to examine Emil’s eyes, then throat, despite the cleanser’s chagrin. The stethoscope came next, though whatever the man heard seemed to not surprise him. The instrument was set aside within a few seconds of use. 

“Can you help Emil?” Sigrun asked directly. 

The man produced a plastic syringe from the box. A pouch of clear cellophane came next, a needle encased within. 

“Hey,” began Emil, somehow paling even further at the sight of the instrument. He tried to shrink away but Sigrun kept him planted with a hand to the shoulder. 

“I’ll let you know in about seven minutes.” The medic fixed the needle to the tip of the syringe, then handed it to Sigrun to hold with her free hand, who accepted it silently. Before Emil could protest, the man seized his left arm, extending it straight and pushing the black sleeve of the sweater past his wrist to expose the clammy skin beneath. “Or do you prefer I draw from the right?” he asked the cleanser. 

“G-get off,” Emil rasped, weakly trying to pull free from the medic’s grip. “Who even _are_ you—” 

“Mister Volkov is our resident Junior Science Officer. And our field medic,” Rowe answered from behind the desk. “I recognize that it’s a confusing choice, given his temperament,” she added dryly. 

“ _Mister?_ N-not doctor?” the cleanser didn’t look impressed. 

“Quit complaining about it. Be grateful you’re lucky enough to be in the same room as the only functioning ABG machine in the entire country.” The medic, Volkov, dabbed at the inside of Emil’s wrist with a wet cotton ball soaked in something that made Sigrun’s nose sting. Then he took the syringe back from her. 

“Let him do what he needs to, Emil,” said the Captain. 

With a forlorn sigh, Emil finally complied. He winced and looked away as the needle found a blue vein, vividly bright against the pallor of his arm. Sigrun squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as the body of the syringe slowly turned red and the needle was at last withdrawn. 

“Hold. Here.” Volkov pressed the cotton ball back over the site as a bead of red began to swell from the puncture wound and directed Emil to take it. He stood and made for the closed door at the far end of the room, crimson syringe in hand. In the brief moment between the man flickering on the light of the room and shutting the door behind him, Sigrun caught a glimpse of metallic aluminum refrigeration units standing alongside boxy equipment full of buttons and digital screens. A flash of green hinted at more plants tucked away among the machines. 

Emil was floundering with even the small task of keeping pressure against his wrist, so weak was his grip. He nearly fumbled the cotton ball, so Sigrun took over that duty as well. She held Emil’s wrist in her hand, pressing a thumb over the needle point as the base of the cotton soaked into red. Emil looked up at her. He didn’t speak, but his face was back to doing all the talking anyway; it was clear from the imploring expression that the cleanser was begging for her to take out of here. 

“Sorry, buddy,” she told him. “Not until he’s done.” 

Volkov reappeared from the back room, leaving the light inside on but shutting the door behind him once again. 

“It’ll take just a few minutes for that to run,” He said to Rowe. “If he proves lucky, he’ll only need some antibiotics and steroids, which we have after the last supply drop. Get him breathing properly again, and then it’s a watch for infection or pneumonia. That’s where the serious danger is.” 

“Can you detect the risk of infection?” the Major asked. 

“Easily, by taking some x-rays.” 

“We have the means for that?” 

“No.” 

Rowe looked over toward the window, where Morgan lurked quietly since entering the room. “There _is_ an imagining lab in the hospital,” the Lieutenant said in answer to the unspoken question. “But it’s in the eastern wing. Sully said it’d be a long job getting that part of the building back on a working power grid. A couple of hours, at least.” 

“No, we’re not doing that.” The Major made the decision quickly. She tapped the tips of her fingernails against the desk’s surface as she considered options. “I’d rather just have the young man treated as though we knew he was at high risk of pneumonia anyway, since inventory can support it. Mister Volkov?” 

“Ma’am.” The medic went to the shelves that stood at the back of the room, quickly plucking out a pair of plastic amber bottles that stood on a row near the top before spending a longer time selecting from a series of dark green ones on a shelf underneath. Next up was a small row of clear pouches accompanied by coils of plastic tubing, much fewer in number than the other assortment of bottles and jars they shared a space with. The man hesitated as he began to reach for these and turned back to Sigrun. 

“Are you comfortable administering an IV?” he asked. 

“Not at all,” she answered. “But I have someone back in my crew who is.” 

Volkov nodded and chose two of the pouches, then after a moment’s consideration, added a third and brought the entire armful of supplies to the large desk at the front of the room. 

“Depending on what the bloodwork comes back as, I’ll write out dosage instructions,” he told Sigrun. A monotone electric note began to beep from the far room, muffled behind the closed door. “That’s it now,” he said. 

This time Volkov returned from the back room with a sheet of paper in hand. Sigrun could see figures printed across the surface of the page. The medic studied it for a few moments before folding it in half and reaching for a pen lying on the desk. In the same neat print that covered the blackboards, he made notes of names and quantities on the back of the white paper. He handed it off to Sigrun when finished. “Follow this regime, and if he doesn’t suffer any serious complications, he’ll be fine over time. Sudden chills or fever are bad signs; fluid in the lungs is the worst. Watch for that closely.” 

Sigrun accepted the paper gratefully, placing it carefully in an interior jacket pocket where she could be certain of not losing it. “And they didn’t even have to amputate,” she said to Emil, resting a hand on his head. The Captain looked between the medic and the Major, still seated at the head desk. “Thanks. If you can give him another few minutes to rest, I’ll get him back to our tank and see if the others want to come out for some fresh air before we bunk down.” 

“Nonsense,” said Rowe. “The young man should stay here overnight, where it’s better equipped to treat him.” 

“ _No_ ,” Emil snapped, more forcefully than Sigrun would have expected him to be capable of, and the cleanser wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with the suggestion. 

“Absolutely not,” Volkov said. 

“This is the best place in which to look after the boy.” Rowe continued to speak to Sigrun directly, ignoring the protests from the inferior ranks. “Volkov will keep a medical watch on him while you join the rest of your team. He’ll be safest here.” 

“ _Major_. I have to insist. The boy can’t stay here.” Volkov was visibly displeased as he glowered across the desk at the woman, who regarded him impassively back over interlocked fingers. Behind them, Morgan shifted slightly at the window, seeming to become interested in the situation for the first time since entering the room. 

“It’s not your place to refuse a patient, Mister Volkov. Your spreadsheets will survive the night off from your attention, I’m sure.” There was a note of iron in the Major’s voice. The slightest tone, not a direct threat, but Sigrun was certain she heard it. A reminder of the local pecking order, from someone used to being obeyed. “The decision belongs to the Captain here. You said it was imperative your soldier receive the best possible care?” she said to Sigrun. 

“Of course, but I don’t much like the thought of leaving him behind in unvetted company, either. No offense.” Sigrun frowned down at Emil. Splitting up felt instinctively like a distasteful move, even if she didn’t have any real reason to mistrust the situation other than the unlikeliness of it. At the same time, she had already brought the entire team here in fairly blind and vulnerable circumstances to have him fixed. It would be foolish to come this far and stop at half-measures. 

“No way.” Emil drew a ragged breath before beginning to force himself to his feet. “W-we need to go—” He began hacking into the crook of one arm, unable to complete the sentence. 

“Is there anything more you could do for him if I left him here?” Sigrun asked the medic tentatively. 

The man gave Rowe a sour look before turning, reluctant, to answer. “He could do with some oxygen therapy,” Volkov admitted. “It’s likely he’s had some degree of carbon monoxide poisoning, and there actually is a functioning oxygen chamber a couple of doors down. I haven’t tested it personally, but presumably it’s still in working condition.” 

Sigrun _didn’t_ like the thought of leaving Emil alone among the strangers, even if only for a short while. But it was as the Major said; they were better equipped than her own modest operation. And despite the bad attitude of the presiding acting-doctor, she didn’t get an impression that the man actually intended to harm Emil, despite his annoyance at being burdened with him. 

“…Alright,” she said at last. “I want to go check in on the rest of my team, and then I’ll be back. I’m entrusting Emil to you in the meantime. Do what you can for him.” 

“Very good, that’s settled then.” Rowe was back on her feet immediately. “There’s a radio here in the lab. Volkov shall set it to the same frequency I provided earlier. You can use that to check in with your man at will.” She picked a piece of chalk from the sill and wrote the numbers on a free corner of the blackboard behind the desk. 

The cleanser made a harsh noise, too breathless to form actual words, but Sigrun could interpret the outraged sentiment behind it loud and clear. 

“I know having to spend time as an infirm is frustrating, but just sit tight and try to relax,” she told him. “I’m going to check on the others and make sure everything is okay back at camp. Lalli was gnashed up pretty badly too, remember? Mikkel may need a hand there, too. And if everything’s fine I’ll be back up this way before you know it.” 

It seemed the shot to Emil’s weak spot worked. The depths of the cleanser’s martyrdom could be bottomless if it was for the scout. He was still forlorn, but he nodded, resigned, and dropped back to the bed. He seemed thoroughly worn out. Sigrun wondered how much of his compliance was simply due to exhaustion. How exhausted did Emil have to be to give up being stubborn? It was a harrowing thought. 

She gave him a light rap against the arm, taking care not to knock him off his shaky balance. 

“It’ll be fine,” she assured him again, hooking a thumb toward the wall. “We’re just right next door.” 

The medic was still in clear disfavor of being stuck with Emil in his care, but he stopped Rowe as she made her way around the desk. 

“It’s going to take some power to get the oxygen chamber on, probably more than what’s currently routed to this floor,” he said to the Major, as Morgan brushed past the pair to join the solider in the hall. 

“I’ll ask Sullivan to take a look. Wait for word before you do anything.” 

And then something odd happened. Rowe said something else to Volkov. It wasn’t in Danish. At first, the sound flitted past Sigrun’s ears like incoherent noise. Notes with no meaning to her, like when Tuuri and Lalli spoke in their native Finnish. Only, with sudden deja-vu, Sigrun realized she did recognize something about the sound. 

Emil, drowsily seated on the cot, noticed it too. His brows drew together in puzzlement. He turned upward toward the Captain and seemed about to say something, but was halted by a sharp look from Sigrun. The cleanser let the breath he had drawn exhale instead, the motion triggering another coughing fit. 

Sigrun gave no outward indication that she had even noticed the interaction as the group began to disperse. She shook Rowe’s hand when the older woman extended it, sincerely thanking her again for the assistance. 

“It is no trouble. I am only sorry in our having had a part in such ill luck befalling your team.” Rowe was brisk, with the slightly distracted attitude of one who has much to do and is already thinking ahead to the next task. “You are certain you do not wish to also bring in your scout, the one you said was shot?” 

The cleanser perked up hopefully, but Sigrun shook her head. “My own medic hasn’t given me any reason to think Lalli won’t be fine. He’ll be alright staying with us.” 

“Very well. I’ll have someone show you back to the garage. And I’ll have a man posted here as well, to act as escort. We can sort everything else out in the morning.” 

Sigrun followed the woman to the door before turning toward Emil a last time. 

“ _Behave,_ ” she said sternly, pointing a finger at him with a steely glance, before joining the others in the hall. 

************************************* 

“Where’s Emil?” Mikkel had the words out the moment Sigrun set foot back in the tank. She had barely even gotten one step through the open door before getting accosted by the question. 

The Dane was standing near the entrance to the tank as though he had been expecting her, but Sigrun was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have been able to see her approaching. The view of the hangar’s door was hidden by the tall trailer of the neighboring truck. 

She blinked at him, momentarily brought up short short by the immediacy of the interrogation. 

“Have you been standing there the entire time?” Sigrun asked, shuffling out of her heavy white coat and tossing it over the back of the office chair. Only now that she was back at the tank was it striking her how sapped she felt. The past few days had left her emotionally wrung out, like a used sponge. Added to that was a generous amount of sleep deprivation brought on by keeping extra night watches when Lalli was missing. Sigrun had stayed up almost to dawn the first night after the scout disappeared, and had practically replicated it the previous night after the pair was rescued. She felt as though she could collapse into pieces and sleep for an entire week. 

“I did go check on Lalli briefly, but mostly, yes,” Mikkel admitted. “Things have been quiet here.” 

He was alone in the cabin area of the tank. Quiet conversation from the barracks indicated that Tuuri and Reynir were in the back with Lalli. Usually by this time of night Mikkel would have already changed into his casual attire, one of several identical boring sweaters, but the medic was still decked out in full uniform. There was even a rifle leaning against the desk under the port window, a box of ammunition on the floor beneath it. 

“Were you going to come in guns-raging after us if I didn’t make it back? Don’t you think you’d have been just a bit outnumbered?” She relocated the firearm to the opposite wall and took its place against the desk, amused. Then she sighed, glad for the chance to rest a moment. “It was quiet there too. Emil’s back in their lab for some kind of breathing treatment, but he should be alright according to their medic guy. They’re not the warmest bunch but they seem ordinary enough for a military outfit. The C.O. is a bit of a hard ass. She’d have to be out here, I guess.” 

“Did you find out much about them?” Mikkel handed over a canteen of water. 

“They’re a research post. Rowe said they’re studying Emil’s giant. Probably among a couple of other unpleasantries.” She uncorked the canteen for a drink, remembering the chalkboard with its insectoid diagrams. “We might have been getting luckier than we knew. Seems like it could have been a lot worse than just one man going missing.” 

“I suppose the research explains the trolls in the pit.” 

“Looks that way. Though, I don’t know. This is still an awfully long way to come to study the infected. Even interesting forms of infected. They said they found out about this place through a scouting expedition that came up through Ribe, does that sound reasonable to you?” 

“I’m not familiar with any German excursions into Denmark.” 

“Yeah, but would you be?” Sigrun elbowed him as he joined her in reclining against the desk’s edge, unable to resist teasing the big man. “Does the Danish king or emperor or whoever rules you people make a habit of running all international whatsits past you?” 

“They do not,” he replied, serene. Then a more serious look crossed his face. It occurred to Sigrun that he seemed very tired as well. She didn’t know if she had ever seen him look it before. “I wasn’t expecting you to leave Emil behind. I would have guessed that someone would need to pry him away with a crowbar before you’d allow it.” 

“I’d have thought that too, but it’s obvious they’ve got a strong footprint planted here. Much moreso than I could have ever guessed. I was walking on egg shells the entire time waiting for an attack, but they seem secure. Confident, even. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.” 

“How many personnel do they have?” 

“Not many that I could see. Rowe herself and a few soldiers. A medic with a bedside manner even worse than you. There’s more around, but they didn’t show themselves. Rowe mentioned getting possibly called in to make some kind of report but she seems to be in charge of the military. Not sure if that means she’s in charge of everything else, too.” Sigrun set her feet in the office chair, using the cushion as a footrest. The ancient springs in the cushion squeaked beneath the weight. “You are right, though. I really did not appreciate leaving Emil.” 

“Did they give you a reason to be suspicious of them?” 

“No...not anything in particular. Maybe. I’m not sure.” 

Sigrun frowned at the floor, wheeling the chair to and fro with a foot. She scratched at the itchy wool of her sweater. She felt anxious in a vague sort of way, and that made her fidgety. It was true; there had been no real red flags about the place. They were well-fortified with some of the most advanced medical equipment she had ever seen, in the field or otherwise. Whoever the strangers were, they were _people_ , and that created an automatic alliance between all of them. 

It didn’t matter anymore where anyone was from. Every person was already unified against a single threat, the possibility of extinction at the hands of the Rash. It was a loyalty that superceded all others. There had never been a time in Sigrun’s career or life where she had seen nationalism valued over collective human survival, so she didn’t worry about Rowe and her crew being potentially hostile. And yet still… 

“There _were_ a couple of things. The Major was awfully unconcerned over one of her people shooting Lalli. Almost like it wasn’t even a surprise. Emil looked like he wanted to take her head off for it.” 

“Do you think she may have already known about it?” Mikkel asked. 

“Maybe. But if so, then my next question is why didn’t they try to help him, or say something about it sooner? It’s not like shooting a foreign soldier and leaving them to die is exactly _normal_. Any of our own sides would have immediately tried to recover a friendly fire victim. Humanitarian aid is a basic courtesy among the nations at this point.” 

“Emil said he witnessed a stranger being killed by a troll. Is it possible that person the same as Lalli’s assailant? They may have been unable to report the incident before death. Or didn’t realize what it was they had shot. You know how disorienting it can get out there, sometimes.” 

She did know. The Silent World had a way of playing tricks on the mind when deep in its territory. It was enough to break the nerves of the weaker-minded even among the military. And out here, beyond the borders of civilization, surely one was even more prone to the paranoia that could settle in like a disease, if left unchecked. 

“It’s not impossible,” Sigrun admitted. “But I don’t imagine anyone on that team is ever outside camp without means to radio back. I get the impression things are ran high and tight where security is concerned.” Between the well-stocked armory in the hangar, the watchful sentry posts, and an apparent surveillance setup, Sigrun was certain that the soldiers’ means for communication had been shored up with just as much consideration. It would be a critical component of survival in the field. 

“There’s another thing, too,” she said. “They’re using Danish in front of us, but their local language is English.” 

“English?” It was Mikkel’s turn to be taken aback. “Are you certain?” 

“Yeah. The medic writes his research notes in it, but I didn’t recognize it at first. Not until one of them said something in it out loud.” 

It had been like deja-vu. As a common _lingua franca_ in the world outside the Scandinavian territories, even grunts in the Norwegian army were expected to learn at least a few common phrases in the language as part of basic training. ‘Hello.’ ‘Danger.’ ‘Help me.’ Academics had never been Sigrun’s strength or interest, and lessons rarely stuck. Sigrun’s parents, however, were high-ranking officers and used English regularly with diplomats or the other diverse groups they met with. Something of the proximity to it must have sunk in after all, for her to recognize it despite her best efforts. 

“Mikkel, why would Germans speak English? I thought they had their own language.” She was pretty sure she had overheard that somewhere once. 

“They do. I don’t think this group is actually from Germany. Could you understand anything of what was written or said?” 

“No. Only that it was English. I’m completely sure of that.” Sigrun shrugged. “I don’t know if it means anything, they’re entitled to their privacy. Just struck me as odd. Anyway, I only came down to check on things here and give you an update. I promised Emil I’d be right back up. It was the only way to get him to agree to stay.” 

“How about eating first?” Mikkel stood up reached for something set on the edge of the desk. It was only then Sigrun noticed the pouches of dry field rations that had been stacked there. “I got these from the hatch. Thought you might be hungry, and I wasn’t sure when I’d have a chance to make dinner. It sounds like Emil’s going to be busy for a little while anyway.” 

“Hey, look at you.” She accepted the rations gratefully, surprised by the thoughtfulness. Their field rations were a choice of dusty-tasting crakers or dried meat with the consistency of old leather, but she was hungry enough for either to be a delicacy. Mikkel had procured her one of each. She tore into the package of crackers first and delicately plucked one of the yellow squares out. “You know, I have to admit, I was hoping they’d invite us to dinner. Seems like the least they could have done for all the inconvenience they’ve caused.” 

“I’m sure they have better sense than to contend with your appetite. They probably want their provisions to last the winter.” 

Sigrun waved a cracker at him before stuffing it in her mouth. “Nothing to be ashamed of, having a warrior’s appetite,” she said, still chewing. “Did you know I once ate nine turkey legs after a week on patrol? It was a Byrknes Mess Hall record.” 

“I did not, but I am sure that is entirely accurate, and not being exaggerated in the slightest,” Mikkel answered, in a tone of grave reverence. “Do you want to radio HQ and give them an update?” 

“Nah, it can wait until the morning. That way we’ll have an update on Emil too. No sense in worrying his kin needlessly.” Truthfully, Sigrun was just hoping to stave off from having to deliver news that the cleanser was in shaky condition. Listening as Tuuri called base to give the update that Lalli had been rescued after all had been a moment of summer in the chill of winter. She didn’t want to dampen the good spirits so soon with news of more bad fortune. 

She continued the meal, filling Mikkel in on further details as she remembered them. Her own sense of optimism was slowly reasserting itself. The worst of it seemed to have been crossed; Emil would be treated overnight and in the morning they could be on their way. 

The door to the barracks slid open with a metal grind. 

“Oh!” Said Tuuri, appearing from the room in her civilian clothes. “I thought I heard you back.” She joined them in the office, leaving Reynir to keep an eye on Lalli’s unmoving form. 

“What did you find out?” Tuuri asked, immediately ramping to excitement. It was the second enthusiastic interrogation Sigrun had received in minutes. “Do you think the Major will let us tour her base? I want to see the troll pit!” 

“Now hold on.” Mikkel held a hand up. “ _If_ you are allowed near such a thing, it will be in the daytime, with the Rash is more dormant.” 

Tuuri looked crestfallen for a moment. Then she cheered up again. “Wait, you said ‘if’ you let me see it. So that means you aren’t saying I can’t.” 

“He’s not saying you can, either,” said Sigrun, dryly. “We will wait until we collect Emil in the morning, and then maybe,” she said. “Only maybe,” she added, trying and failing to pre-empt Tuuri’s triumphant shout. 

There was a sharp inhalation from the barracks. Sigrun looked over to see Lalli, awoken, struggling to sit upright as Reynir struggled to get him to lie still. 

“Hey--Mikkel said you shouldn’t move about so quickly--” The Icelander said, taking Lalli by the arm as the scout hissed painfully, Lalli’s free hand going to his wounded left side. 

The scout ignored him. His gaze darted about the interior of the tank, from the empty barracks to the office area where Tuuri, Mikkel, and Sigrun stood, to the dark and deserted pilot’s den. “Missä on Emil?” he gasped at his cousin. 

“Um…” Tuuri seemed startled by her cousin’s sudden fervor. The scout, usually impassive, seemed almost frantic after wakening. When he didn’t receive an answer, Lalli repeated the question more urgently, looking to Sigrun this time. 

“What’s he asking?” the Captain asked. 

“He…he wants to know where Emil is,” Tuuri answered. “Rauhoitu, Lalli,” she said, soothing, joining Reynir in the barracks where the Icelander continued to hold Lalli’s arm, unheeded. 

“He’s back in their lab for treatment. He’s going to be fine. Everything is alright.” Sigrun watched as Tuuri repeated her words back to Lalli, but rather than calm the scout, the answer only made him more agitated. 

Lalli shook his head, his words tumbling out to Tuuri too fast for Sigrun to even differentiate one from the other. The scout pulled free of Reynir’s arm and shook off Tuuri’s, looking to Sigrun with a desperate expression that alarmed her more than she cared to admit. 

“He says you need to get Emil back. He says…he says it isn’t safe here.” Tuuri seemed torn between embarrassment of her cousin’s outburst and fright at his proclamation. She tried again to calm the scout down in Finnish, but Lalli didn’t give any indication that he even noticed. 

“Would it help for him to visit Emil?” Mikkel asked. 

But when Tuuri repeated the suggestion, the idea seemed to rattle the scout even further. He scrabbled away from Tuuri and Reynir to the back depths of the barracks, shaking his head furiously, his emphatic denial of the request evident even without a common language. 

“It must go against all of his instincts to loiter in the open like this, so close to the pit trolls and the giant. And after being attacked by these same strangers, no wonder he’s reacting strongly,” Mikkel said. He seemed sympathetic as he regarded Lalli, huddled against the edge of Emil’s cot, still trembling with hands clamped over his head. 

“Mmm.” Sigrun watched for another moment before turning away. She set the rest of the dusty crackers aside, finding that she no longer had an appetite for the food. 

_We need to go_ , Emil had insisted when she suggested he stay behind. _It isn’t safe_ , demanded Lalli. Perhaps the scout was simply lashing out from residual bad feelings over the earlier trauma, like Mikkel said. The scout had certainly earned it. Either way, Sigrun was certain she would be glad to see the Luna base receding in their rearview mirror, just one more mystery in the Silent World. She vacated her perch on the desk as Mikkel joined Tuuri and Reynir in attempting to calm the panicked scout, readying herself for the trip back to the lab where Emil waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh man I'm going to update so fast after chapter 2  
> also me: *knocks vase of water onto laptop, obliterates it* 
> 
> A new computer later, chapter 3 is finally up! Thank you always so much for the patience, and for reading. 
> 
> Also thank you for the suspension of belief that some of Sigrun's crew knows English, even just in familiarity. Working around the language barrier has been an interesting challenge, where it's hard to give the reader information the characters themselves can't receive. 
> 
> Other notes:  
> \- This chapter feels like 80% dialogue and I'm not sure how I feel about that  
> \- Introducing OCs into a fanfic is way more nervewracking than I thought it would be


	4. Chapter 4

It was a deepening winter’s night outside the vast frosty windows of the laboratory, but the temperature within the walls may have been even icier.

Emil waited until the sound of Sigrun’s footsteps faded into silence, then slowly faced the stranger who had been designated his caretaker. His arm throbbed where blood had been drawn, the skin already coloring in a faint purple bruise. The cleanser was feeling a lot of emotions as he watched the man in the white lab coat. Absolutely none of them were good. 

“Don’t give me that ugly look,” The medic said, turning from the doorway. The man’s apparent displeasure mirrored Emil’s own as he looked down at the seated cleanser, frowning. “It’s your Captain you can thank for this.” 

“Hmph.” Emil, haughty, made a point of looking away from the man, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out. 

Recent events had mashed the cleanser into a strung-out wreck. He was hurting and exhausted, yet somehow still brimming with anxious energy, as though he had drank too much of Mikkel’s rancid sour coffee. In truth, he didn’t know what to think or how he should be feeling anymore. Not after he set out to find Lalli and found humans to be at the heart of his disappearance. Not after Sigrun decided that it was fine to leave him here among them, alone. 

It’s not that he didn’t trust her. Emil was accustomed to accepting the Captain’s judgment as word of law and gospel. It’s just that it happened to make him feel a little sick to his stomach this time around. But there was something else bothering him despite the Captain’s assessment that these strangers must be trustworthy. He couldn’t shake it, not even when he was able to ignore the shady circumstances of their presence, the troll pit they maintained, or the monsters they kept as neighbors. 

The attack on Lalli. The _accidental_ attack on Lalli. 

Emil watched the medic from his peripheral vision as the man returned to the shelves in the far end of the room where the medical supplies were stored. The cleanser had performed first aid himself recently when he and Lalli had been stranded in the city. It had been his first time. Lalli had reacted with visible panic when Emil tried to check the bullet wound. Emil’s eyes narrowed as he recalled how the scout had flinched away from human touch, trauma from the attack wrenched into every painful, frightened motion. 

No way would the scout have been so badly affected by just accidental friendly fire. Lalli had been hunted. Emil was almost certain of it. 

The cleanser remained aloof as he heard the medic approach him, sitting again in the stool next to the cot with a slight creak of metal springs. He may have been condemned to the man’s care by Sigrun, but that didn’t mean he had to roll over for him. Emil had no intentions of being cooperative with anyone who may have had a hand in hurting Lalli. 

“Take this,” the medic said, but Emil refused to acknowledge it. He kept his eyes averted, not deigning to look at whatever was being offered. 

The man huffed. “You do know it’s in your interest to cooperate.” It wasn’t framed as a question. 

“Why?” Emil retorted, trying to remain imperious but not quite achieving it with a voice that could barely be called a croak. Just that little effort seemed to rob him of all the air left in his lungs. _Why should I trust you?_ Emil could only make it through the one word, but the medic correctly filled in the blanks for himself, guessing at the cleanser’s meaning. 

“Because we both want the same thing, for you to not be in my lab. Getting you healthy is the quickest way to achieve it. So quit being stubborn. You’re a professional, aren’t you? Start behaving like one.” 

It was the condescending tone that did it. After all the misery and sleepless nights, the fear and toil and sheer effort poured into the past three days, only to get stuck being on his own away from the rest of his team, being scolded was intolerable. 

“Shut up!” Emil’s icy composure cracked and he bristled at the man. “B-bastard-” 

But the exertion made him begin coughing, which started his head start swimming again, and that was the end of the defiance. Emil wheezed and the room lost balance around him, suddenly too bright in the artificial florescence light of the lamps. He closed his eyes against it with a wince but it was no good; the vertigo followed him into the dark. The fire in his chest had dwindled to a smolder as of late but now it was back, threatening to choke him out once more. 

“Take this,” Volkov said again, and this time Emil cracked a bleary eye open, one hand still clutched to his chest as he gasped like a beached fish. The man was holding out a small piece of pale blue plastic, L-shaped, with an aluminum bottle inserted bottoms-up in one end. Emil regarded it suspiciously, unfamiliar with the odd object. He didn’t move to take it. 

“What, you’ve never seen an inhaler before?” Volkov held it up, placing a thumb against the bottle. “Take a deep breath through the mouthpiece while pushing the top down.” 

Emil didn’t have a chance to respond before the medic had shoved the device in his hand. His reflexes must be shot to hell, the cleanser thought with a strange sort of detachment, blinking down at the small object. His fingers felt clumsy and numb as they tried to tighten it. Emil had to grasp with both shaky hands so he wouldn’t drop it. 

It was irksome that the medic didn’t even stick around to see how he would react. Volkov was already up from the wheeled tripod stool, retreating to the private room at the far end of the lab once more. Emil, robbed of his chance to protest, gave the room’s entrance a withering stare. On top of everything else, it was hurting his pride to get pushed around by the older man. Then he inspected the small device, the inhaler, clenched in palms. 

He really wanted to keep being petulant. It felt cathartic having a target to channel his anxiety toward. The medic was tangible, a flesh-and-blood foe. Emil knew how to react to such a enemy. It was the pervasive bad memories and the ominous sense of dread that were proving harder to contend with. But the Captain had told him to not cause trouble for the medic. She felt leaving him here for treatment was safe, and Emil should follow her lead. And, despite a deep reluctance to admit it, Emil knew he needed the help. Sigrun wouldn’t have left him behind if that weren’t the situation, too. 

Trying the medicine was instantly regrettable. It burned Emil’s throat and was horribly bitter against the back of his tongue. The awful sensation set him to ferociously hacking but he couldn’t get any air in his lungs, and the pressure in his chest quickly began to constrict into something that left dark spots in his vision. 

“Again. Actually get it into your lungs this time.” Volkov reappeared from the far room, dragging a tall silver pole with a hook along with him. “ _Don’t_ throw up anywhere.” 

Through watery eyes, Emil noticed that as before, the man was careful to close the door behind him. Whatever was in there, Emil and Sigrun weren’t meant to see it. Just like they weren’t meant to hear the final exchange between Rowe and Volkov. The one in English. Emil had noticed it, and he was pretty sure Sigrun had too, by the way she had cut him off from calling it out. 

Secrecy and exclusions. Emil didn’t like any of it. But he pulled himself together enough to do as the medic ordered, bracing himself for a second attempt at the medicine. It wasn’t any less unpleasant, but this time Emil managed to inhale some of the mist without immediately retching it back up. 

At first there was only the bitter flavor and the horrible exertion of suppressing another coughing fit. Then a numbing sensation began in his throat and moved to his chest, alleviating some of the ache that had settled there over the past few hours. A few moments later and he was able to breathe more deeply than he had in hours, the pressure in his lungs abating just a bit. 

It wasn’t much, but it was still an overwhelming amount of relief to someone teetering dangerously close to suffocation. Emil let the inhaler fall from his hand to the mattress and sighed, drawing a cautious and shaky breath. He closed his eyes against another of the gray waves that threatened to send him sideways. 

Giving in to the weariness seemed more enticing than ever. The laboratory was quiet and the cot softer than his back in the tank. It was comfortable, the bad company aside. Several hard days were currently standing between him and the last good night of sleep he’d had. Emil felt every minute of it. His mind was as starved for a break as his battered body, desiring badly a chance to disconnect and create some distance from the horrors of the past week. But he stayed upright, his gasps for air slowly returning to a normal cadence, and after a time Emil rubbed his face with the back of a cold hand and wearily forced his stinging eyes open again. 

Volkov was sitting in the char behind the desk. He held a clear pouch of fluid in one hand--Emil recognized it as part of the assortment gathered from the supplies shelf--as he rested his chin against the knuckles of the other, half-slouched as he studied the rows of tiny red print stamped on its plastic side. Light from a nearby candle left a flickering orange reflection on the lenses of his glasses as he read. To all appearances, the man was completely ignoring Emil. 

The cleanser considered it an opportunity to take in more of the laboratory view with a clearer head, something he hadn’t been able to do since being dragged inside half-dead by Sigrun. He wiped his sweaty bangs from his eyes and looked at the room around him. _What would Lalli notice here?_ Emil tried to imagine the laboratory seen through the scout’s acute eyes, picking out details the cleanser himself would gloss right over. 

He had never spent much time in a hospice area before. Prior to this winter, Emil’s worst injuries mostly amounted singed eyebrows and superficial burns (Mikkel deemed it “miraculous” for some reason). Yet despite his own limited experience, this place seemed out of sync with his impression of what an infirmary should look like. There were lots of tiny bottles and thick books and strange devices on the shelves, but much less in the way of bandages, towels, or gauze--the cornerstones of first aid, as Emil had come to learn over the course of the winter. For all their monetary value, microscopes and electronic boxes had very little use in treating troll bites. 

It reminded him instead of his aunt and uncle’s home. In its earlier incarnation before conversion into a maps and landmarks archive, their office had served as a miniature research site. The small room had been stuffed with notebooks and dense charts on Rash theory that Emil had never cared to make heads or tails of. 

The array of diagrams covering every centimeter of blackboard in the room also put him in mind of the lessons once administered by the small legion of private tutors his parents had hired prior to his military enlistment. Copying blackboard lines had never had never proved an effective tactic with Emil, who tended to get bored with anything longer than memorizing a bulleted list. A short one. It was exhausting to imagine cataloging the depth of knowledge seen here. To say nothing of the effort it must have taken to acquire it, considering the source material… 

His gaze lingered on one image in particular. The centipede-giant was a loathsome spiral in the center of a board filled with a myriad of other nightmare shapes, standing toward the far end of the room. It was a detailed rendition, meticulous in its execution, but in Emil’s critical assessment, did little to truly encapsulate the awe and scale the monstrosity boasted in the flesh. 

It was the illustrated swarm of legs that were especially entrancing. Emil had only seen a few of the giant’s legs at a time but according to the diagram, it had dozens more along the grotesque length of its body. With uncomfortable clarity Emil recalled how those same insect limbs had first appeared, snaking out in oily barbed segments from a shifting wreck of asphalt rubble. The way the wind had shifted in his ears as one swung overhead, frighteningly fast for something so massive. 

He had almost been crushed beneath those limbs. Crushed and dragged below ground to the giant’s waiting mouth. He would have been, had Lalli not been there to save him. 

No, a drawing couldn’t even begin to compare. 

It was a memory that still felt raw. Too raw. Emil swallowed involuntarily, his throat very dry, the motion painful. Every time he dwelled on the giant it brought the same nauseous lurch of panic. With effort, he tore his gaze away from the blackboards to the opposite end of the room, seeking a distraction. 

At the desk, Volkov had moved on to jotting down lines in a notebook with a black pen, still not paying attention to the cleanser. Emil took the chance to study him, too. Evidence of old injuries and the standoffish attitude made it hard to place the man’s age. Somewhere between Tuuri and Mikkel was as close as Emil could guess. Crows feet and frown lines weathered what otherwise might have been a youthful face, scars aside. Emil was getting a strong impression that the man didn’t smile much. 

To the man’s right, the windowsill was crowded with an array of plants in various mismatched pots. Some looked vaguely familiar to Emil, reminiscent of the culinary herbs his childhood housekeeper used to grow on the family patio in warmer months. Others were unknown to his eye. Jade and variegated leaves in all sizes competed for space in front of the glass. Many looked thin and leggy in the wan winter sun, even when sitting directly on the sill. At the far end of the ledge, an amber jar held a small bouquet of dried flowers, long dead and turned to the consistency of paper. It was the only neglected detail in an otherwise immensely tidy space, but Emil barely noticed it, more hung up on the array of live plants growing green in the dead of winter. Of all things, house plants. A frivolous pursuit even in the populated settlements, let alone here, in the middle of the Silent ruins. 

“The tall spindly one with all the arms will help if you have any burns,” the medic commented. The feet of his chair scraped against the tile floor as he pushed it from the desk and walked toward the pole retrieved earlier from the back room, the clear bag of fluid still in hand. 

“Um, I don’t.” Emil spoke cautiously, testing his ability to make words. It was still a painful effort, the words grating out in halting syllables, but at least he could speak in (short) sentences again. “What’s that?” He asked, rubbing his throat and eyeing the medic as the other man affixed the bag to a hook on the top of the pole. 

“Something I’m going to wait until you’re knocked out to give you rather than waste time fighting about.” Volkov wheeled the instrument closer to Emil’s cot, taking care to not to let an accompanying coil of thin plastic tube drag along the ground as he did. Emil noticed with some consternation that the tube ended in another plastic-wrapped needle. 

“Yeah. We’ll see.” Emil watched the approach of the contraption, especially the needle, with a dark expression. Admittedly yes, none of Rowe’s crew had threatened them since the initial encounter back in the forest. Everything with Lalli aside, they were even going through the motions of helping them. But there was still something in Emil that insisted there was danger here. Whether because of the giant in the city or the strangers themselves, he wasn’t sure, but the quiet voice of warning in the back of his mind was relentless. It didn’t matter how tired he was. He would stay awake all night until Sigrun got back if he had to, just so long as it meant they could leave. 

Motion in the doorway caught his attention. A large black cat in a red collar sauntered into the center of the lab, silent as a shadow. Lamp light turned its fur a glossy blue-black. The animal paused, blinking over in the direction of Emil and the medic, the tip of its tail flicking low from side to side as it studied them through bright pale eyes. 

“Hey,” Emil said, holding a hand out in invitation to the cat. The gesture went ignored as the animal, after a moment of further consideration, dropped abruptly to lie on its side with its back to the cleanser. It lay still, motionless save for the twitch of the long tail. 

“Hmm?” Volkov glanced up, then scowled to see the animal. “Oh. That thing. Damn nuisance goes wherever it likes and leaves hair all over the place. Must have heard all the commotion and got curious to come meddle.” 

Emil, no stranger to Kitty’s tendency to shed entire second cats over his sweaters, looked down and noticed for the first time that the otherwise impeccably clean cot was covered in a layer of fine black fur. A concentration of it in a circular indent at the head pillow suggested the cushion was an especially favored spot. Considering the generally spotless condition of the lab and third floor in general, Emil could guess this was a point of contention between the resident junior science officer and the animal. 

The cat, indifferent in the face of criticism, only flicked its tail again as Volkov stepped over it on his way back to the desk. Emil could have sworn the animal smirked. He snapped his fingers at it, trying again to lure it in for a pet, but the cat paid him no mind other than a brief swivel of an ear in his direction. 

“Don’t waste your time, it never does as its told.” The medic sat on the edge of the desk and reached for a ceramic mug. He grimaced slightly as he took a drink, the contents having apparently gone cold since Sigrun’s party arrived. Then he took another another. Emil noticed for the first time the dark circles sunken under the man’s eyes. 

Both men looked over at the sudden crackle of static. The lab’s radio was mounted on the wall behind the desk. As before in the tank, the white noise pulsed from the speakers in strange undulations that bore an unsettling resemblance to words, though not in a language Emil knew. This time, there was something almost familiar about it, an accompanying feeling of deja-vu. Something he couldn’t place, but that made the hairs on the back of his arms stand up all the same. Then the static vanished, the whispering almost-words replaced by the low and calm tone of someone decidedly human. 

“This is the Survey team,” said the voice over the radio, male, almost soft-spoken as it murmured from the speakers. “Current time, eighteen-oh-six. Requesting permission to begin the curfew report.” The speaker used unhurried Danish. It was clear enough that even Emil could understand the words with relative ease. 

There was a brief delay before any reply. Then a second voice chimed in over the airwaves, obscured by the sound of wind buffeting the mouthpiece on his end. “Go ahead, Fischer.” 

Emil was momentarily puzzled; the responding voice sounded vaguely familiar. Then he placed it as belonging to the man that had helped him up the stairs. Rowe’s henchman. Volkov set the mug aside and drifted to the window as he listened to the broadcast, leaning forward against the sill as he stared at the view outside. 

“Sir.” The first speaker took over the channel. “Starting close to home with the eastern checks, they look mostly clear on screen. Something dashed across the view of station three, but it hasn’t been back a second time. Seemed to be sized around a medium, maybe medium-small.” 

“See anything around the bridge?” asked the second voice through the wind. 

It must be part of a security routine, Emil realized, finding himself interested in the report despite himself. It was never unwelcome news to hear confirmation of a lack of nearby trolls. 

“The bridge has been quiet but we’ll be keeping a watch over the entire route for the next few hours. I’ve got eyes on it as far as the Olsen warehouse. We’ll know if anything so much as twitches on this side of Vinkelvej.” There was a slight pause, as though the speaker were turning pages in a book. “Moving on to the south-central checks, I’m registering much more activity than usual. Seems the heat from the fire is luring drifters in from the forest. Most are clearing out after not finding any prey at the site, but a few have taken to wandering around. So far they’ve been light-footed enough to go unnoticed. And…something is triggering motion cams on the border between sectors two and three. Size unknown. North checks, all clear,” concluded the voice at last, almost murmuring the final confirmation. 

Volkov gave the radio a look. There was another pause over the channel as though the speaker were anticipating a response. When none came, the man picked up where he left off, continuing the report. Volkov scoffed and turned back to the window. 

“All field personnel have sent their initial assessments,” the quiet voice went on. “Nothing from teams one, two, or four. Three and six logged recent sightings. Five has a live sighting. It’s one of the forest stragglers.” 

Emil didn’t get to hear about the troll from the forest. The man from the Survey team was silenced as another voice piped in, forcibly overtaking the channel. 

“Good evening,” announced the newcomer, a woman, in a voice polite and briskly efficient. “This is Sullivan paging the Path Lab. Do you copy, Mister Volkov?” 

Emil winced; the interruption was jarringly loud. Even the cat turned its head a few degrees toward the noise, which seemed to be its version of being startled. The medic approached the radio and plucked the mouthpiece from its handle in the brief silence that followed. 

“This is Volkov,” he said. “Go ahead, Sullivan.” 

“Sir, the Major relayed over that you may need a power boost in your area. I’m heading for the electrical room now.” 

The sound of the wind through returned as the second speaker cut back in, the man named Morgan. 

“Sull, we’re in the middle of doing the rounds. Can you switch off the main channel?” 

“Sorry, boss.” The resultant response was apologetic and warm. “You too, Fisch. Caught me with the volume muted.” Her tone turned business-like as she addressed the lab once more. “Mister Volkov, if you’ll please standby. I’ll contact you on the backup frequency shortly after I’ve checked some things on my end.” 

The radio was quiet for a moment. Then gracefully, as though the interruption had never happened, the man from the Survey team picked up once more and returned to the topic of team five’s live sighting. The Lieutenant asked a question about the troll’s behavior. Volkov reached and adjusted the radio’s tuning knob to a different number. The conversation was replaced by the hiss of a dormant channel. 

“That happens every night?” Emil asked, coughing. 

“Every night.” Volkov set the radio’s mouthpiece back onto its stand with a click and reclaimed his seat behind the desk. “Though there’s extra work being put into it right now. Like I said, you created quite the mess out there. Kicked up all sorts of activity they wouldn’t usually be seeing this time of year.” 

Emil, subdued, ignored the lecturing tone. It was strange seeing the fallout of his own actions from the strangers’ vantage. Annoyingly, it made him a little sheepish to know he had caused so much trouble, even if it was for people he didn’t know or trust. The medic’s recriminations seemed more earned this time around. Emil could feel a faint blush come into his face as he sat, embarrassed. 

Then there was the way in which the base seemed to maintain such a routine for keeping watch on troll activity. It had been seamless. Mundane. How long did one have to dwell in the Silent World before proximity to the infected became mundane? A beep on the tank’s radar was still enough to set Emil’s own pulse racing, even after a winter in the field. And no telling how long it was going to take before every shift of earth underfoot stopped sending his heart into his throat. 

He could feel the drawing on the blackboard looming behind him. Emil chose to look out the window instead. Clouds hid most of the moon, rendering the view beyond the glass into nothing but grey snow and black obscurity. Only with effort could the city and the sky be differentiated from one another. 

_The bridge was certainly a focal point of that call, wasn’t it?_ The thought came creeping in, refusing to be tuned out. Tuuri had been worried the tank wouldn’t be able to safely cross it. A reasonable concern, considering a crater five meters high had been blasted through its supporting wall. 

“The giant,” he whispered, before he could catch himself. 

Volkov glanced over, still sporting what must be a default expression of disapproval as he regarded the cleanser. Then he looked away, following Emil’s gaze out the window. 

“That’s right,” the medic said, and the stern line of his mouth eased, just a little. “You would have been the one that encountered it yesterday. The Survey report said half a block had been caved in. And that the foundation of the torched building was completely demolished. Nonetheless,” he continued, the scolding tone making its return, “You should have known fire would be a poor choice, especially in an enclosed space like that. That shell is flame-resistant. An attack would just slide right off its exoskeleton and onto the walls. Large projectiles or something with crushing force would have worked better.” 

“What about explosives?” Emil asked, doing a quick mental inventory check against the tank’s lean armory. 

“Maybe, but they’d likely need to be wedged under its carapace to do any significant damage. Hard to accomplish when the attack is coming from beneath your feet.” 

It was perhaps the first time an academic lecture had ever managed to capture Emil’s full attention. “Does it only stay underground?” he asked. During the day or on brighter nights, the giant could probably be spotted several kilometers out from the window of the lab if it was approaching through the streets. If it stayed below the earth, even despite its overwhelming size, it would always remain unseen. 

“Almost always. The entire sewer system is its nest. It only comes out to hunt, which it does very swiftly, like an eel. First it ambushes its target, then it pulls the kill back underground.” 

_Sounds familiar._ Emil had experienced such a trap firsthand. Twice. And since the giant kept out of sight below the city, it would be impossible to ever predict its attack. 

Something of the cleanser’s discomfort must have shown on his face, because after a moment the medic shrugged. “At least, the entire sewer system south of the river. It won’t cross the canal to this side. Not even during the winter, when it gets hungry. The water repels it.” 

That would have brought Emil more reassurance if he hadn’t just overheard the local soldiers’ plans to keep a watch over the bridge for several more hours yet. “I don’t get it. Staying out here for that thing,” he said after a time, having to concentrate to articulate each raspy word. “Just because it’s big.” 

“It’s not just its size. It’s unique in other ways, too. Otherwise you’d be right, and this would all be wasted grief.” 

Emil hadn’t been expecting that. “How so?” he asked. Only the scale of the thing had left an impression with him. Which, granted, was enormous. Yet other than size--and the nightmarish circumstances around facing it--there wasn’t much that set the giant apart from the rest of the infected population. 

The medic didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he looked at Emil again, crossing his arms across his chest and studying the Swede through light blue eyes. The stern expression was back. It was a long enough and steely enough stare that the cleanser began to grow uncomfortable with the scrutiny. 

“What?” Emil demanded, feeling suddenly loud in the otherwise quiet room. Something in the way the man was regarding was disconcerting. It reminded Emil again of just how alone he was, until Sigrun came back for him. 

“The inhaler seemed to have helped.” Volkov sounded observational when he finally replied, looking at Emil as though the cleanser were a specimen under a microscope. “You’re talking better and asking questions. I’d like for you to answer some for me too, while we have this opportunity for conversation.” 

Emil didn’t like the sound of that. The request, or the tone it was delivered in. “What kind of questions?” 

“How long your party’s actually been in the area, to start.” 

“Umm…a week, I think.” The recent passage of time had taken on a dream-like quality in his memory. There was the time before Lalli disappeared, and the time since Lalli disappeared. The dividing line between the two points of reference felt very wide, despite only spanning a few days. 

“A week,” Volkov repeated, impassive. “Where have you been in that time?” 

_The usual boring places as always, schools and libraries_ , Emil thought, but he didn’t like this turn in conversation, or feel that he owed the man an answer. So instead he just shrugged. “Don’t remember. Wherever the Captain said to go.” 

“I doubt that. Your Captain said you were in the city to find your lost teammate. Are you saying she just sent you in blindly, with preparation on where you were?” 

“Well, it’s not your business anyway,” Emil retorted, prickly at the insinuation that Sigrun did him a disservice. The Captain had tried her hardest for him, first at talking him out of marching into danger, then at equipping him with what he needed to get home safely. The only reason Emil and Lalli were both still alive was because of her, even if she had resisted letting Emil go after the scout. 

“No, it’s not my business, and I’m not the slightest bit interested in prying into your affairs. But you being here makes you part of mine, and I will have compliance where that’s concerned.” It was impressive; the man’s chilly air of authority almost rivaled that of Sigrun when the Captain fully asserted herself. “Now _tell me where you have been_. The quarry? The mill ruins?” 

Emil faltered in the face of that cold tone, taken aback by the intensity of the question. “J-just places around the town square,” he said. His scratchy voice broke and the medic pointedly waited until Emil was able to continue. “Schools mostly. A few offices. ” 

“What about the western side of the city? Did you ever go there?” 

In truth, the cleanser rarely paid much attention to their routes and would never have been able to answer such a question under typical circumstances. Yet this time, Emil was able to reply with confidence. 

“No, never.” He had studied the local map extensively in preparation for setting out after Lalli to narrow down routes the missing scout may have taken. As a result, he was far more familiar with their progress in this area than any of their other previous raids. And through whatever method they used for determination, Tuuri and Mikkel had ruled out the far side of the city as having any viable salvage sites. Sigrun’s team had ventured no further west than a few kilometers away from the center since arriving. 

“You’re certain of that?” Volkov pressed. “There’s no chance you’re misremembering or lying?” 

“F-funny that _you_ worry about trust,” Emil snapped. “ _You’re_ the ones that shot Lalli.” 

If possible, the temperature in the room between the two men seemed to plummet a few degrees even lower. To Emil’s surprise, the remark silenced the medic. Volkov glowered at the cleanser, then turned away. From the profile view of the man’s face, the cleanser could see a muscle working in his jaw, tense, angry. 

Finally, the medic said, “….Alright. If that’s the truth of it. If you do end up remembering anything else, anything that’s slipping your mind right now, you need to let me know immediately.” 

Volkov reached over to the windowsill, dumping out the remains of whatever had been in his mug into a nearby plant before reaching for a small notebook and pen at the edge of the desk. Emil got the impression the conversation was over, though the tension of it lingered in the air. He leaned forward and beckoned the cat again, this time earning a wide yawn in response. 

He didn’t know what to make of the medic’s reaction. The man gone from cold imperiousness to anger upon mention of Lalli. Almost as angry as when Rowe insisted that he let Emil remain in the lab. But he didn’t protest Emil’s accusation that Lalli had been attacked by a member of the Major's crew. 

_Sigrun, where are you?_ Emil silently implored her. Surely she made it down to the tank by now and had time to check on the others. She had promised him she’s be back as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to be here anymore, fielding interrogations and being browbeaten by strangers while sitting in the shadow of the giant. He wanted to be home with Lalli and the others, on his own bed, even if the mattress was thin and the pillows lumpy. Right then, it sounded like the best place to be. 

He looked up hopefully when the radio came to life, but it was only the woman from earlier, paging the medic once more. 

“This is Sullivan. If you copy, sir, I’ve got everything sorted out to double the voltage of that floor. You’ll have--ack, hold one second please, just dropped my screwdriver behind a breaker box--” She disappeared momentarily from the channel. Emil, Volkov, and the cat all winced at the sound of the radio's microphone being ingloriously banged against something, presumably a breaker box, the talk button still on, until she returned. “--You’ll have about three hours of the increased power before it hits limit. Though if you can get done earlier, that would be ideal. Fischer’s going without his north cameras to make this happen.” 

Volkov thanked the woman through the radio’s receiver. “You’ll probably be able to route power back to Surveillance ahead of the deadline,” he added before hanging up. “This won’t take long. I’ll let you know.” 

***************************** 

Emil was ushered into a dark room two doors down the hall, leaning against the entry way frame for support as Volkov turned the lights on. Though still maintained and kept free of dust, the room was clearly less used than the laboratory. There was no furniture or blackboards, only several rows of stacked boxes at one end of the room and an imposing array of medical equipment at the other. 

He coughed weakly into his hand, watching as Volkov singled out a particularly daunting machine. It was a little over two meters long, with a row of grey cushions lying flat inside a wide, clear cylindrical tube. The tube rested on a white plastic base covered in area of dials and buttons. It was only when Volkov, having already pressed some switch on the back of the machine, knelt to begin messing with the buttons that Emil’s sluggish brain realized the man’s intentions. 

“No way,” Emil wheezed. The walk down half a hall may have winded him, but he’d be damned if he let himself get stuffed into some medical death tube. “Rather take the pneumonia.” 

Volkov ignored him. The man adjusted a dial on the right-hand side of the machine. A slight humming began in the machine as a small screen on its face lit blue. Emil could feel its vibrations through the wooden floor and the soles of his shoes. He took a step back, suddenly nervous, still bracing himself with a hand against the doorway. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep upright without its support. 

The end of the tube separated from its body with a hiss, the automated mechanism triggered by something the medic did to the controls. Volkov stood and pulled the door to the chamber open all the way, then turned and looked at Emil, expectant. 

“S-seriously.” Emil’s voice dwindled into rasps again, and was hard to hear over the sound of the machine. “I don’t want to.” For someone who had never spent much time in an infirmary, the thought of being trapped inside the claustrophobic interior of some machine was an awful lot to take in. 

“It’s an oxygen chamber, and it’s not going to hurt you.” With some effort, the medical pulled at a heavy wheeled platform tucked into the base’s interior. The cot-like surface in the tube came rolling out with it once extended. “It’s a stroke of fortune that it’s even working in the first place. Whoever moved it here did so long before I arrived.” 

Emil remained where he was in the doorway. The medic grew impatient. 

“Come on,” he said, his voice taking on a slight sharp edge. “This is what you got left behind for. In case you didn’t hear, we’re operating on borrowed time. _And_ at the cost of sacrificing border security for your well-being in the meantime.” 

Emil again found himself without the will to fight. He had finally come to the end of his reserves of strength. Reluctantly he approached the oxygen chamber, taking care not to trip over the cat as it wound around his pat, picking the most inopportune time to take an interest in him. At least in the chamber he could finally have a chance to put his feet up for a minute. 

He sat on the edge of the cot where Volkov indicated. “What’s this stain?” Emil asked, poking at a reddish-brown splotch on one of the cushions. 

“Blood, probably. Given the facility’s records, I’d expect this chamber was used for treating specimen subjects rather any human patients. Don’t worry,” he said, cutting off Emil’s horrified gasp. “The sheets are sterilized, any contagion is long dead.” 

That was hardly enough to be a comfort. With a shuddering exhale, Emil laid on the cot, avoiding the stain as best he could. He wrenched his eyes shut when Volkov slowly pushed the platform back into the clear plastic curve of the tube, not wanting to see the walls bowing so close to him. Once inside, the cleanser remained tense, on guard against sudden discomfort, trying to ignore the sense of encapsulation. 

After a few minutes passed without anything more painful than a growing pressure in his ears, partially dispelled by a yawn that came very easily, Emil began to relax. Exhaustion was starting to outweigh the agitated fight-or-flight instinct that came from being shut in the tube. Despite his resolution to remain awake for Sigrun’s return, it was only half an hour into the oxygen treatment before he finally dozed off. 

***************************** 

Emil dreamed, and did not wake. The previous night he had dreamt of fire. Tonight he dreamt of the cold. Ice covered his entire world, and him along with it. He could feel frost in his bones as he walked through the frozen streets of the city toward the outpost. Everything was tinged blue as the ice rose and fell in still waves around him, vast glacial curvatures that arced against an afternoon sky. 

He reached the bridge. A tangle of massive insect limbs stretched out from the hole in the retaining wall, but they did not venture over the canal. The giant, the Leviathan, will not cross the canal. Not even in the winter when it’s hungry. And it _is_ hungry. Emil could sense its starvation, its yearning for the warmth beyond the river, as he walked toward the outpost. 

All the buildings seemed distorted, stretching up to the sky in impossible heights as he approached, squinting up at them against the glare of the sun. The cathedral rose taller than the rest, its shadow casting a black swathe in the blue ice where it stood. Below stood the pit, its shadowed depth bottomless in the wan afternoon light. Emil could hear the beckons from within. But he ignored them and continued to walk, only looking to and fro for Lalli, lost somewhere in the tides of ice, scouring his dreamscape for the missing scout until he passed into a sleep too deep for dreams. There he remained, his mind blissfully silenced, until morning and Sigrun came to wake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter we'll finally get out of this lab.


End file.
